


Making Do

by ravenkira



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Character Study, Denial, Depression, Drama, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Homophobia, Impotence, In Character Snape, M/M, Masturbation, No Fluff, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Discovery, Sex Shop, Sexual Dysfunction, Slow Burn, Translation, UST, bottom!Snape, situational humour, virgin!Snape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2020-10-18 09:30:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 56,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20636933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenkira/pseuds/ravenkira
Summary: After the war, Severus Snape tries to find another way to deal with his abominable life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Смотрящий](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6094864) by [ravenkira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenkira/pseuds/ravenkira). 

> Please, pay attention to the tags. 
> 
> There is some slight and intentional shift in timeline. It's fanfiction after all :)
> 
> Snape's POV till the 19th chapter. Snape has never been a nice man, so do not read if you are sensitive ❤

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **MINOR SPOILERS TO THE STORY:**  
I want to show the start of Harry and Snape's relationship, no more than that. This story is about Snape's solo journey, and as soon as he stops pushing Harry away, he is no longer alone in it. ♥   
Every person is making do after the war, and as Snape is coming out of his seclusion, his attention shifts from his own problems and he becomes aware of those who are around him. So, there are many minor characters and their own minor stories that go on till the last bonus chapter - it's like seeing one tree and moving away to see the whole forest.   
The bonus chapter is here for every character but Snape. However, it's a chance to look at Harry and Snape's relationship from another point of view and see the small hints of something big.  
P.S. - I hope you love George Weasley as I do.

Severus Snape belongs to the “lucky ones” whose life has always been completely in the gutter. Now, having surrounded himself with muggle books on psychology, he surmises that he has spent many pounds in vain - he already knows that his problems come from childhood.

People who had the misfortune of being acquainted with Tobias Snape could agree without a doubt that this man’s child was doomed. Joining the ranks of nazi-wizards, immersing himself in dark magic, contributing to the murder of the last person who was kind to him, spying and almost dying from the bite of a giant snake - Severus grunts unhappily, thinking that he has lived up to the expectations. 

While Potter is whitewashing the name of his former professor - and the boy cannot be accused of lack of enthusiasm - he is hiding in the distant muggle area of London. Snape's life is a routine burden nowadays - he takes potions on Tuesdays and Fridays and rubs a salve into the scars on his neck. He brews only for himself: there is no strength left to take orders, and the magical exhaustion has not yet passed. He spends the galleons and pounds given by Albus on porridge, milk, required ingredients, owl mail services and these books on muggle psychology that turned out to be a waste of time, money and paper.

It’s not that Severus was counting on any revelations when he was heading to the bookshop nearby, but the elderly muggle from the flat across the hall - the half-deaf Mrs. Yates, who has a weakness for poking her nose in other people's affairs - is firmly convinced that he has depression, and suggests consulting a psychologist. After so many years, he feels attached to her gentle manners and South Welsh accent, but he never paid much attention to her concerns - he had returned to this flat only when the pressure of the Dark Lord and Dumbledore became unbearable. He reads what depression is - and Mrs. Yeats' worries now seem reasonable to him. Severus doubts that he looked healthy in May.

Mrs. Yates, who knocks on his door every night at eight, asks, “Samuel! Are you home?” and knocks again. At the very beginning, she misheard his name, and Severus was in no hurry to correct her - he did not care back then. He also doesn’t care now about what’s happening with his name in the magical community: Potter made up a tearful love story about him and Lily Evans, and the nonsense has grown into a giant pile of absolute rubbish ever since - Severus questions the sanity of the people who read and support this. He is subscribed to The Sunday Prophet to catch up with the most important news but habitually ignores the scandalous interviews from former classmates, colleagues, and students about him. He would have gladly canceled the subscription if it had not been for the deep-rooted paranoia that Potter would soon come to his senses, accuse him of all mortal sins, then Severus would have to flee to America - some time ago the American Potions Association had invited him to an exclusive Wolfsbane project, and the aurors would not dare to come across the ocean. In the worst case, he can get lost in Europe, he has a collection of hair and a stock of Polyjuice Potion enough for two years.

He buys food at the Tesco down the road, walks along a narrow street to the park, goes around a small theater, turns back, walks on the opposite side of the park, past a small bookshop, past a sex-shop, flashing its vulgar violet sign, and finally comes up to his flat. Severus is not bothered by the receipt - the sum is always more than acceptable - he does not like that park, he is not interested in muggle performance, the only books he bought turned out to be useless and the sex-shop bewildered him at first but now this feeling is gone too.

Salve, breakfast, a walk to Tesco, lunch, brewing, rest, dinner, a chat with Mrs. Yeats, sleep. Somewhere in there, within those simple routine things, Severus should be happy, but apparently, the Dark Lord wasn't the only problem. “The problem is in your childhood,” muggle books insist. Severus makes tea and adds milk, recalling poverty, insults, and beatings, constant distrust, and expectation of the worst... He is used to constant vigilance, and it is hard to abandon such a useful habit - as soon as Severus lets his guard down, he might get hit by Avada Kedavra. The war may be over for Potter, but the former spy has to live with a marked forearm for the rest of his life.

He reads the chapter on depression and sees nothing terrible in it. Self-loathing, irritability, decreased libido, change in appetite - dear Merlin, that’s nothing. Insomnia and unexplained pains seem unpleasant, but there are potions for these that Severus has been taking for more than a dozen years. He has no idea how muggles make do without special brews. Then he reads about post-traumatic stress disorder, puts down the book and pours his cold tea into the sink. He prefers not to use magic - it will take a long time to restore it.

An owl sits on the windowsill and taps on the glass with its beak. This is the only bird to bypass the anti-owl barrier of his flat, that has been protecting his London shelter so far. Minerva McGonagall knows about his whereabouts, and she is under Fidelius charm, so Severus uses the lightest of scanning spells, confirming the absence of dark magic curses and artifacts. His hand instantly grows numb, and he rubs his muscles, then opens the window to let the owl fly in. The owl hoots softly and sits on the table, extending a clawed foot with a letter. The bird takes its time and steals a half-eaten sandwich from the plate, while Severus is dealing with the envelope. Apparently, the owl was instructed to wait for an answer and disturb his peace with tenacity.

Hogwarts' stamped parchment is covered in the wide handwriting of the headmistress, and Severus automatically skips the greetings and two paragraphs of polite questions about life and health to stumble upon "the school needs you". It seems that reconstruction is in full swing, and, as it is extensively stated in another paragraph, there are enough workers, but they can’t do anything about the dungeons without the head of Slytherin house and Horace Slughorn is unavailable. The owl is scratching the table impatiently, and Severus ponders the reasons he is going to list after the words "forget about the dungeons". He was locked there for seven years of his youth, then another sixteen years of adulthood, protecting his students from the prejudices of other houses. He sincerely wants the dungeons to remain flooded.

Severus writes, “Dear Minerva, unfortunately, I am also unavailable. As for the dungeons, I am firmly convinced that living in damp, dark and cold rooms is harmful to children. If my opinion is important to you, consider relocating Slytherin dormitories to somewhere else”. He folds the parchment, ties it to the owl's paw, puts several knuts in the bag, and lets the bird out into the street.

The Slytherins needed him, the Order of the Phoenix needed him, the school needed him, the innumerable amount of people saying “you should” or “you must” still make Severus nauseous. He looks at the torn sandwich with an air of melancholy and throws it into a bucket, then sighs and decides to postpone the trip to Tesco for the evening. Or tomorrow, he has lost his appetite.

He lies on a small sofa and puts his legs on the armrest. Severus will soon be forty, he has survived two wars, become a killer, almost gotten killed, and all he has to show for it is a muggle den on the outskirts of London, next to a bookshop and sex-shop. According to The Sunday Prophet, he has been awarded the Second Class Order of Merlin. A half-empty, tiny flat and an Order of Merlin - sounds better somehow.

Severus contemplates muggle depression and books on psychology, but superficially, thinking thoughts like "Mrs. Yates is still worried" or "The shop assistant insisted on these books." His memories of childhood, the mistakes and betrayals seem to drive energy out and freeze him from the inside with a non-verbal Stupefy. That is why Severus prefers not to remember at all, focusing on potions and survival - and after the victory, only Tesco, a salve for his neck and two Restorative potions remained.

He skips lunch again, just looking at the ceiling, then a mechanical alarm clock shakes him out of a trance. It is in a small, polished-to-a-shine cauldron, and the ringing sounds throughout the flat so piercingly that Severus winces and lifts himself off the sofa with great effort. Brewing the salve for his throat is just as entertaining as looking at the ceiling; all movements are brought to senseless automatism, causing him to fall back into a state of indifference. Occasionally, Severus would be interrupted and filled with dread by the next Sunday Prophet or someone knocking on his door... or seeing a gray-haired old man with a white beard in the park's shadow or the Weasley twin in a red telephone box.

It often seems to him that they are close - those who did not survive the war. Nymphadora Tonks, being reflected in any teenage girl with brightly dyed hair, a cashier from Tesco who looks like the Creevey brother, even a black-haired postwoman with long curly hair and wide eyes, and he can’t look at her without shuddering. There is probably an explanation for this in some of the muggle books on psychology.

When Severus finally leaves the flat to buy groceries, he still does not feel hunger, although it is already eight o'clock in the evening and it’s gloomy on the streets. The bookshop is closed when he walks past, wrapping himself in a black coat. It is not crowded at the shop, Severus pays for the potatoes, deciding that it is worth diversifying his poor menu: swallowing solid food is still painful, but he can’t stand soup anymore.

The walk down the street to the park is gray, the park paths are gray among dirty green lawns, the theater is gray, everything is gray. The glass of the red telephone box is also gray. Otherwise, only the blue jacket that was being worn by a young man on the other side of the street and the purple sign of a 24-hour sex-shop have color. Snape turns his head abruptly, causing the scars on his neck to tighten, and peers over at the man, trying to get a closer look, then retreats immediately, slamming through the door of the nearest shop.

Severus gasps, trying to pull himself together, but the panic is paralyzing. His encounter with Nagini may have injured him, but, fortunately, his reflexes remain fast. Did Potter notice him? Is that even Potter? They should not be looking for a former spy, and if they are, then this is definitely not to present him with the Order of Merlin - Minerva would have contacted him instead. Plan B time? Has he accumulated enough magic to apparate home? They could be waiting for him there, his wards have not been renewed for a long time. Where to now? No one was going to forgive him for Dumbledore's death - it was a trap, and he, an old fool, lost vigilance, believed the articles in the Prophet. They distracted his attention, made him feel safe.

A polite cough is heard behind him, and Severus winces.

“Hello!” says a girl in a purple polo. “The shop is empty now so you don't have to worry about privacy. I can close the door if you want.”

He nods and says hoarsely, ”Yes, please.”

Potter won’t break the door open in a muggle area, although only Merlin knows what the boy can actually do.

The girl comes up, turns the key and says, “Our assortment appeals to customers with a wide variety of tastes! Are you interested in essentials like condoms and lubricants or toys and accessories? We also have videos, literature, and periodicals.”

Snape takes his eyes off the door and focuses on the word that makes the most sense to him.

”Literature.”

The girl turns left and he follows, making sure to stand behind a rack so that he is not visible from the door.

“Typically, our clients prefer erotic novels, but we also have literature on sexology and health. This book about men's health is very popular...”

Severus does not listen, just gives her the money.

“I’ll take it. Now I would like to look around on my own. Thank you for your help.”

When it is necessary to avoid attention, he knows how to behave, although it is difficult to keep his character in check — for Merlin’s sake, what novels was the girl blabbering about, the aurors are waiting for him in his flat with a one-way ticket to Azkaban! They have found him. They must have tracked the owl.

Severus feels it in the back of his head that the girl is watching him, he forces himself to walk past the racks, rustling a small plastic bag from Tesco and faking interest. It was then that he paid attention to the shelves and realized he was surrounded by artificial vaginas and that, oh Merlin, he managed to hide in the neighboring round-the-clock sex-shop.

He spends another five minutes full of discomfort near lady parts, then he moves to the other wall and is met with colorful, erect penises. Driving away thoughts of dark magic rituals that might require real human bits, he glances at the door and whispers a simple spell to see through the wall. The street is empty, and a prickly numbness rolls through his arm – he’d better forget about apparition altogether.

“Anything else?” the girl asks, and Severus shakes his head and moves towards the door. “Don't forget your change and the book!”

The consultant sticks a dark, opaque bag into his hands with a couple of bills, unlocks the door, and Severus goes outside. The street is still empty, the entrance and the staircase are empty too. The wards are undisturbed, proving that he must be a mad, paranoid, old man. He barely unclenches the hand that is holding his wand, which he has been hiding behind the bags. He places the groceries on the table, looks at the new book which has a drawing of a cock on its cover and sighs wearily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing magic was performed by amazing Gumi. ♥♥♥


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story takes place in 2000 (the original timeline is shifted), so there are video tapes.

Being deprived of a magical gift, muggles have adapted using technology, welcoming exhausted wizards with half-useless wands. Back then, when Severus had managed to control his paranoia enough to handle large crowds, he headed down to the Tesco and scoured the place up and down, finally deciding to only buy a cheap electric kettle. From that point on, he has been avoiding all sections of the supermarket other than the grocery store. The kettle breaks down regularly, and the former professor has to use the exhausting _Reparo_ spell to bring the piece of plastic back to life. It seems that muggles buy new household appliances every month which is an inexplicable waste.

Snape doesn’t like spending money. It might be an echo of his poor childhood or it could be the fact that all he has in his wallet was given to him by Albus. The late headmaster knew that after his death, Severus Snape would become the number two villain of magical Britain, so he handed him several heavy bags of galleons and muggle money for a rainy day. The ex-professor has never had any savings of his own: special amulets, rare ingredients, and payment for his muggle flat used to exhaust every last knut of his salary. Now, when wizards may not be looking for him anymore, selling his parental home in Spinner’s End could be a solution to his financial problems, but Severus is not able to squash his paranoia and expose himself to the wizarding world yet.

He also can’t spend Dumbledore’s money without a soul-sucking feeling of guilt, which is why his muggle wardrobe is extremely sparse; blue striped pajamas, an old three-piece suit, several shirts, and one black T-shirt. All of those used to belong to his father, and only one piece of clothing he bought for himself several years ago; a coat. At that time Severus doubted he would actually survive the war, so spending on clothes seemed like a waste – there were many more pressing things to buy. Fortunately, nowadays hardly anyone on the streets pays attention to the way he is dressed; muggles are surprisingly unobservant, and he rarely catches the puzzled look thrown at him and whispers of “Does the guy know he’s not in the eighties?”

Using the _Reparo_ spell to fix his kettle once again, Severus gets so tired that he curls up on the sofa and only comes round when an owl knocks on his window. It is to be expected - the hallmark of all the wizards occupying the post of Hogwarts’ headmaster is that they ignore rejection until a person finally agrees.

The owl stubbornly awaits an answer, observing him with its clever eyes as Severus reads the letter from Minerva. “I will address your proposal for the relocation of the Slytherin dorms at the Hogwarts Council. We need a person who would have a personal interest in creating the most favorable conditions for students of this house, and you are the best candidate.” The postscript says, “Please meet me today at any convenient place. Please send the time and the coordinates for the apparition point in your reply.”

Severus grimaces in displeasure when the owl begins to nibble at his hand insistently, but takes out some parchment and ballpoint pen - a muggle invention, that he came to appreciate as a student before he went to Hogwarts - and writes down the coordinates, adding, "7 pm".

He eats liquid porridge, drinks tea with milk, brews a foul-smelling salve for his neck, and falls limp down on the sofa. Energy seems to flow out of him, and over time, it gets more difficult to move. Perhaps, the Lord cursed him with something unknown, or Nagini’s poison eventually darkens the aura once it gets into the bloodstream, or maybe muggle depression also affects wizards. Severus wonders how Arthur Weasley is doing these days, as he is also closely acquainted with the toothy beast.

Severus turns his head slightly and looks at the useless muggle books, still lying on the bedside table. He reaches out and takes the top one, the one with a huge, golden, erect penis on its dark gray cover, and it makes him wonder how shameless the muggle world is. Not a single wizarding publishing house would ever stoop to such vulgarity. On the contrary, magical books have as unassuming titles as possible, and it is often difficult to guess the content by name only. Back in his schooldays, Severus’s curiosity knew no bounds, and he secretly read “Everything About Your Magic Wand”, “Knizzles and Runespoors”*, and “Homework of a Young Wizard”, suppressing untimely erections and memorizing contraception spells. Later he read everything about anal sex, learned how to brew high-quality lubricants and spent many nights behind the bed canopy curtains, looking at pictures of naked men from the chapter on puberty and physical development.

Now his youth seems so distant as if it were from a different life, and Severus's libido has faded away, not having even fully emerged during adolescence. In truth, the next wave of hormones consumed him in his first year of teaching at Hogwarts because of precocious seven-year students, but it terrified the young professor so much that he used an Impotence potion. After that humiliating spring, the spells of acute desire no longer bothered him, morning erections disappeared by themselves, and masturbation was required once every one or two months and brought little pleasure.

Severus is so accustomed to his condition, that seeing only a drawing of a penis makes him wonder about the last time he had an erection. He looks at his pajama pants in bewilderment, puts his hand under the elastic and gently touches himself, but his body does not respond.

“Oh, Merlin,” Severus says weakly. The realization that he hasn’t had an erection for several years hits him with the force of an avalanche.

In his chest of books, he keeps expensive collection publications, covered in dragon skin. There are also multi-volume editions on potions, dark arts, and magic theory, and there are even potion recipes for purifying the blood and restoring limbs, but there is absolutely nothing about what to put in a cauldron to help a man regain erectile function. None of his private clients have ever had such orders, they have always turned to Severus with more serious problems. The school infirmary also has never needed this kind of potions, and Snape himself would hardly dare to experiment with the potion which his potency depends on.

He needs to visit Diagon Alley. Severus doesn’t consider revealing himself, he is so worried about possible surveillance that Polyjuice is the only solution; he is going to meet McGonagall under the guise of someone else, too. If he had the strength, he would change his appearance every time he goes out, but he is exhausted and becomes even more so with each passing day.

Severus looks at the cover with the golden penis, opens the table of contents, and finds the vile words "erectile dysfunction". He reads quickly, noting depression among the list of possible causes. "Stress" is printed on the next page, and this is an incredible understatement of what he felt throughout his years of espionage. He sees “Prostatitis (Chapter 18)” and flips to the page. He carefully examines the drawing, reads the signs, frowns, and then looks at the causes and risk factors, noting “prolonged sexual abstinence”. “Hypothermia” is written below, and Severus shudders with memories of writhing on the icy floor and praying for mercy when he got hit by another Crucio.

He might not have noticed the pain during urination, he has been drinking potions with strong painkiller effects for several years. At first, it helped to get rid of the consequences of Crucio and to do his job as a professor at Hogwarts right after Death Eaters meetings. More recently, the pain medication has helped him to push at least something down his barely healed throat - Nagini really did her worst.

He knows the potion that neutralizes painkillers by heart - the infirmary used to require several cauldrons every year. Poppy prefers to give them to children after the Skele-Gro because restless teens could get hurt again and not even notice the injury. Severus brews the base, counts the minutes intently, then adds spores and salamander blood, points his magic wand to the cauldron, and finishes the potion using all his willpower. His arm has grown numb once again. This is definitely not one of his best performances. He knows some seventh-year students could brew better, but now he has no choice. There isn’t even enough magic for a high-quality Stasis spell. After the first sip, a sharp pain shoots through his left knee with such force that Severus falls on the floor, then more pain in the lower back steals his breath, and then his throat begins to burn. Oh Merlin, damn it all.

Severus makes several unsuccessful attempts to rise and then stretches out on the floor, defeated. He has a salve for joints somewhere in stock, but what about his back? Probably some kind of impingement, so he will need mountain ash tincture. He is thirty-seven years old, but he feels as if he were Nicholas Flamel when he lost the magic of the philosopher's stone and felt the weight of every century. Severus crawls to the potion chest, barely opens the lid and reaches for the tincture. It tastes bitter, but helps his back, relieving some of the pain. The salve for his joints follows: he pulls down his pajama pants to his ankles, carefully examines the aching knee and covers it with a thin, oily film of medicine, which must be reapplied every twelve hours.

There is nothing to be done about his throat, he can only use a local anesthetic, which he does after having cleaned his hands with a rag and a solution. Аt that moment he finally and blissfully gets some relief from the pain. Snape turns his attention to his bony legs, lowers his underpants, and examines his cock. Once again, he squeezes the flaccid organ with his palm, shifts the foreskin around several times, trying to provoke at least some reaction, then irritably pulls his underwear back up and, limping, goes to make some tea.

It’s not that Severus used to have any specific, far-reaching plans of an intimate nature, but after the war, he vaguely wanted to find an acceptable muggle and have a good time with him - as a reward for all the horrors he has experienced. Snape thought that his paranoia wouldn’t be so overwhelming around muggles, he was reassured by the thought of using superficial legilimency to find out their hidden intentions. The former professor even thought of many ways of making an escape, but it never occurred to him that his own body could fail.

Severus puts on his father’s old suit at half-past six, habitually covers the scars on his neck with a scarf, grabs the Polyjuice potion with a hair of a man who, as it’s written on the label with his own angular handwriting, is the same size as him, swallows without wincing. He endures a minute of intense burning and twisting stoically, then looks in the mirror - he clearly remembers this unassuming red-haired muggle with deep bald spots whose hair he stole at a hairdresser’s. The usual Snape facial expression looks strange on this man as if he is suffering from heartburn. Severus takes a few steps around the flat and decides that his left knee has finally stopped aching enough to go outside but it still seems that his leg could buckle under him at any time.

Severus puts on his coat and goes into the hall, closes the door, and limps down the stairs, trying to put his weight on his healthy leg, walks past the bookshop and the sex-shop towards the park, goes around a small theater, turns to an elementary school and enters a narrow alley covered with Muggle-Repelling charms. The headmistress appears at seven sharp, straightens out her black coat that looks very much like wizarding robes and looks around searchingly.

He approaches her and nods.

“Greetings, Minerva.”

She raises her eyebrows in surprise and smiles as though she is glad to see him. “Severus! Old habits die hard, I see.”

“They turned out to be very useful a few months ago,” Snape replies and points toward the park. “There is a café nearby where we could talk. How's reconstruction going?”

“Not as fast as we hoped, but this is to be expected. We are doing everything we can though. The Hufflepuff wing is almost undamaged, so some of the workers live there, and the others live in Hogsmeade."

They walk slowly, but Severus clearly remembers Minerva’s usual swift pace, so she must be humoring him. He barely drags his legs and only Merlin knows what is happening with his left knee when all the potions he has taken or applied react with one another. Snape winces, turns to the cafe, which next to a theater. He holds the door open for the headmistress and allows the hostess to seat them in the farthest corner.

“You look bad, Severus,” McGonagall notes.

“Bold of you to assume that I collect hair samples for Polyjuice based on appearance. _Muffliato_ and Diversion charms, Minerva.”

“Let me make an order first, I haven’t eaten any muggle food for a long time.”

She smiles at the waiter, asks for a piece of a berry pie and some tea. Severus does not order anything, just looks at the back of the retreating young man, then repeats insistently, “_Muffliato_. Now.”

“It is a shame that the youth don’t feel safe nowadays,” the headmistress says and waves her wand. “It's all over, Severus.”

She is thirty years older than Snape and has every right to call him “the youth”, but he has been feeling like a crumbling old man.

“Is it? I don’t trust the plans the Ministry has for me.”

“You are acquitted, Harry has made sure of it. All charges have been dropped. I don’t know if you read the newspaper, but... they are giving you the Second Class Order of Merlin, Severus.”

The waiter appears again, the headmistress cancels _Muffliato_, and while McGonagall exchanges courtesies with the young man, the former professor takes his time to think about whether the promises made by the Ministry are true. When the waiter leaves, Severus reminds her once again, “The charms, Minerva.” She obliges.

The headmistress looks tired in yellow light, and the silver in her hair is especially striking. To tell the truth, Severus is surprised that he hasn’t turned gray after spying and wiping Potter’s heroic ass. He used to think that he would have a heart attack once when the Chosen One had found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time again.

Indeed, if Severus Snape were a little weaker, it would not have cost him just a torn throat, aching back, sore knee and impotence. He must be grateful to the genes of the impervious bastard Tobias Snape for his ability to survive. The man would have happily outlived his wizard son, if not for a drunken fight in a pub one Christmas morning. And if that wasn’t the best holiday gift, then what was?

Severus looks around the cafe, making sure once again that there is no visible danger, and the headmistress purses her lips sadly.

“How is Arthur Weasley doing?” he asks. 

“Acceptable, given the circumstances,” Minerva responds and takes a sip from the cup. “He got a promotion in the Ministry.”

Severus nods thoughtfully.

“Come back, Severus,” the headmistress asks. “You look bad, and I’m not talking about your choice of appearance, I’m saying that you can barely drag your legs and are not able to cast the necessary spells on your own.” 

Snape winces as if his tooth is aching, but says nothing.

“We need help,” she continues. “The position is well paid. Separate accommodation, meals, medical care, an assistant, anything you want. Severus, we do need you.”

She needs him too much, he would say.

“Why me?”

“There is a certain prejudice against the Slytherins in the wizarding world these days. We need a strong Slytherin leader, a good example. We can’t let the Slytherin children suffer for the sins of their parents.”

“I'm unwell,” he shakes his head. “It's dangerous at Hogwarts.”

“Almost all of the Death Eaters are caught, and the rest are hiding abroad. Aurors are there round-the-clock, Hogwarts is as safe as...”

“What are you talking about, woman?” interrupts Snape bitterly. “I can’t warm my tea without the help of a muggle kettle, I can’t magically make water pour from a faucet, and if a chunk the size of the Astronomical tower falls on my head, I won’t even have time to say, “Oh Merlin!” It is getting worse, and soon my reaction will become so slow, that a flobberworm will be able to bite me and hide away!”

Severus falls silent and turns his head to inspect the room once more.

“Poppy can help if you’re not ready for St. Mungo’s. You know that she is a good mediwitch, forget your damned pride, we have already lost too many people.”

Minerva hands him a silver locket.

“This is a reusable portkey, triggered by touching and saying "Hogsmeade". It will take you to the Three Broomsticks. I hope you’ll change your mind.”

Severus hides the locket in his coat and thinks that it is a very good backup plan if he needs to escape quickly. He felt helpless yesterday when he saw Potter, and it unsettled him.

He says his goodbyes to the headmistress and exits the cafe, leaving her alone with her berry pie. Severus walks slowly, trying to avoid putting too much weight on his leg but his journey up the stairs still seems endless and is painful. When Snape leans against the wall, trying to find his keys, the door behind him opens with a click. Mrs. Yates looks out and asks, “Are you looking for Samuel? I think he has left. I have tried knocking but no one replied.”

“I have the key,” Severus answers awkwardly and tries to open the lock quicker.

“Are you his friend? I have never seen you before,” the elderly neighbor asks. Dear Merlin, isn’t this just what he needs right now.

“We rarely see each other,” Snape says, gritting his teeth. “Sorry, I'm tired,” he adds and slams the door.

He’s not going to change back for at least another hour, and the feeling of something going very wrong makes him shift uneasily. The fragile balance between all the potions he has taken is about to be disturbed and it will hit him hard, he knows it.

Severus falls on the sofa, counting minutes, tossing and turning, then grabs a book about men's health and reads till he turns back into himself, then desperately wishes he hasn't. The pains come back completely.

When Severus gets up and goes to the restroom, it burns like nothing else, and he knows that he definitely won't go to Poppy with this shameful problem. He reads the chapter about prostatitis again, considers in his mind that it is better to massage the prostate with an anti-inflammatory balm, writes a letter with an order for the ingredients and puts it away until the owl returns.

The muggle book insists on the importance of regular sexual release, and Severus winces. The Dark Lord has ruined his imagination so much that any primitive erotic story turns into a bloody nightmare in his head, so when his potency returns to normal, he’d better purchase some stimulating materials. Severus saw those in a sex-shop the day before.

The streets are dark, and he decides to study the range in advance, hoping that there would not be any other customers in the sex-shop. He covers his scars with a scarf and remembers to grab his wallet before going out. 

As Severus enters, he is greeted by a completely different girl in a purple polo who asks dutifully, “Are you interested in essentials like condoms and lubricants or toys and accessories?”

Snape looks around with such a strained expression that the shop assistant decides to try another approach, “Do you prefer women or men?”

“Men,” Severus answers hoarsely and coughs a couple of times; his throat begins to hurt.

“We have anal sex toys,” she points toward the closest racks. “Specialized lubricants, condoms, BDSM and fetish paraphernalia, intimate hygiene products, a large selection of pornographic tapes, literature, and periodicals,” she waves her hand to the other corner.

The shamelessness of the erect penis on the cover of his book pales in comparison to what is displayed here. Muggle photos don’t move, and it is the only reason why Snape has not bolted out the door yet, forever swearing off such establishments. He maintains a relatively calm expression on his face through sheer force of will, and asks, “Have you got anything less vulgar?”

The girl looks stunned by such a question. Severus has surely lost his mind; what else did he expect to find in a sex-shop? Scales and cauldrons?

“Then you’d better start with erotica,” says the girl and points to the top shelf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * “Knizzles and Runespoors” could be “the birds and the bees” of the wizarding world.
> 
> Amazing Gumi made my English sound presentable in this chapter! ♥♥♥


	3. Chapter 3

When Severus flips through the magazines, cautiously extracted from an opaque plastic bag, his lips tense in humiliation; that's hardly the purchase Dumbledore had in mind when he left him that money. The headmaster said, “Just in case, it’s always better to have one more way out.” It would be more embarrassing if Snape had spent all the money on call boys, but the fact that everything could be worse doesn’t actually make it better.

He has acquired several erotic periodicals on advice of a sex-shop assistant, and only now, in the morning of the following day, when embarrassment has taken second place, Severus realizes that he needs something more salacious to awaken his libido. He looks at the covers with hugging topless models and recalls the periodicals that were exhibited on the other shelf right in front of his nose, photos of men with uncovered groins, smoothly shaven crotches, shamelessly parted legs, aroused cocks and assholes put on display; Severus cannot even think about it without shivering, with those images that keep flashing through his mind.

The former Potions professor has never seen such debauchery; all the magical books on intimate practices were limited to verbal descriptions and occasional drawn illustrations. He would have gotten an erection right in the sex-shop if it weren’t for his affliction; who would have thought that the open indecency would be so exciting? For so many years Severus was convinced that carnal needs were disgusting, and now he is feverish just from a thought that some go about their normal lives and then do it behind closed doors. If a muggle had asked Snape to show himself in such a way, he would have done so, aching from desire. In fact, no, it is absolutely impossible, but the fantasy burns him without mercy.

Muggles are dirty; he has seen all those disgusting things that excite them, such as body suspension, a fist in the rectum or a metal rod in the urethra. Snape has looked at tape covers, on which there were men with false breasts and women with their mammary glands removed, so his own thin, pale, scarred body could probably become someone else's perverse weakness, too.

He relishes his defectiveness with almost masochistic pleasure, it has protected him from the world as if it were an impenetrable wall; it did not let anyone come closer, but did not allow Severus to cross it either. He used to cherish the idea that there were men with a much more repulsive appearance, but, on the other hand, their faults were compensated for by pure blood, wealth or connections, while Snape was a poor half-blood Hogwarts professor - not the most attractive candidate in all senses. He feels a long-forgotten humiliating fire of hope for an intimate relationship, and it’s all because of those liberated and vulgar muggles, who like all sorts of crap.

Severus glances at the tanned, unblemished young men on the covers and throws the magazines on top of the pile of muggle books on his bedside table. He puts on his father's old suit, and then, following his routine, opens the front door to go for another walk to Tesco; he prefers fresh bread because yesterday's gets stuck in his throat. The opposite door opens so quickly, as if his elderly neighbor has been waiting for him by the peephole.

“Hello, Samuel! A man came to your flat yesterday, he had the keys," reports Mrs. Yates.

Severus tenses for a brief moment, but then he remembers meeting Minerva under Polyjuice and nods. “Yes, he lives here.”

“I have never seen that young man before! You could have warned your old neighbor that you have someone. I am very worried about you, you know.”

Snape doesn't argue with her like he didn't argue about his name, he just says, “I don't like talking about it.”

“Oh, don't worry about it, Samuel," Mrs. Yates goes out into the hall and shuts the door behind her. "People are much more tolerant today than they were in my days. Do not be ashamed of your beloved, such an attitude will not lead to anything good.”

Severus has never heard the word "beloved", only read in old novels, and he clings to it, trying to ignore the content of the melodic speech of his neighbor.

“My late husband always knew that I was shy about showing up in town with him. He was a country man with country habits," Mrs. Yates remembers, and Severus shifts awkwardly; his knee begins to hurt. He feels like a corner of his mouth is moving down. “If I were less worried about what my relatives would say, maybe he wouldn't have drunk himself to death. And I couldn't run the farm alone, so I had to move first to my sister's, in Bristol, and then to London... Show your young man that you appreciate him! He looked very tired, just like you. By the way, would you like a cup of tea with cookies?

He looks at his neighbor and involuntarily compares her to Albus; she does like to go into the lengthy stories of her youth. Mrs. Yates is also too stubborn for her age, and her maniacal love for home-baked cookies is unsurpassed - she smells like ginger. She is kind to him, too. Now, given everything that has happened since the Dark Lord's resurrection, he realizes that she has been kinder than Albus ever was. At least after dessert she hasn’t asked to kill her yet.

Snape mutters that, unfortunately, he is in a hurry, and he goes down the stairs, trying not to strain his unstable, aching leg. He walks a familiar path to Tesco and back, curses a few flights to his floor and quickly hides in the flat, hoping that the neighbor will not come to continue the conversation. She is cordial with him, and that's unbearable because Severus doesn't deserve even a little of her mercy. He deserves to be treated the way Albus treated him, making him pay for every kind word, he deserves Azkaban, not a gold-hearted neighbor, an ordinary muggle life and a promised Order of Merlin. He loathes himself.

He takes out the hair of some curly-haired young man from his collection, swallows the Polyjuice potion, suffers through the transformation and glances at his unremarkable face in the mirror before coming out to the hall. Severus thinks he hears Mrs. Yates's home dress rustling at the door, and he wonders what his neighbor thinks of him now, having seen two unfamiliar men at his flat.

The former Potions professor goes by the underground to the station closest to Diagon Alley, passes through the Leaky Cauldron without incident and goes straight to Flourish and Blotts. He tries not to pay attention to the garish signs and bright post-war building facades. The street is crowded, and the only thing that keeps Severus from a paranoid panic attack is a small portkey locket given to him by Minerva, which he squeezes between his fingers till he feels pain.

He doesn't like the way fashion has changed in the few months of his isolation; the robes have become much more colorful. He attracts attention with his muggle clothing, and he is openly stared at by wizards. Severus hadn't thought this through, life among muggles is threatening to make him dumber than Neville Longbottom.

He carefully ignores the manager in the bookshop and goes to the potions section, but it is almost impossible to find something among the thousands of books without the help of magic, so he is doomed to turn to an elderly magician with the emblem of Flourish and Blotts on the robe, “Where can I find books on men's intimate health potions?”

The wizard gives him a long, skeptical look, as if he can’t understand why he wouldn’t use magic, and waves his wand, summoning several volumes from the shelves. Severus feels the heat in his cheeks and curses this youthful body that can blush so easily.

“What exactly are you interested in - erectile dysfunction or sexually transmitted diseases?”

“Dysfunction," Snape replies, trying to keep his tone calm.

“We have "Potions for a listless Runespoor" by Oxium Huckaby. There is also "Impotens" by Villeroy Vindictus, but this book is intended for advanced potioneers.

“I need Vindictus," Severus reacts instantly and stretches out his hand in a demanding gesture. The elderly manager shakes his head disapprovingly, but gives him the book anyway and goes to his counter to accept payment. "Impotens" is worth outrageous 170 galleons, and Snape empties his wallet, defeated. He once paid 500 galleons for a book on family curses, which he had found in Knockturn Alley, but this price included a substantial discount in exchange for one half-legal potion. The book was worth every coin, but he is not sure about this one.

Severus’s face is still heated as he heads back to the Leaky Cauldron. His leg feels shaky so he forces himself to go another 200 meters, taps the correct brick to go through the wall, pulls open the door and falls on a chair right in front of the owner of the bar. 

“Bad day, buddy?” Tom asks. “Pork roast with a couple of glasses of crackling rum will cheer you up!”

Severus doesn't remember the last time he felt hungry, but his stomach is growling painfully and he finds himself nodding, “Is there anything tender?”

“Our pork chops are more tender than your girl’s kiss!”

Tom gives the go-ahead to the kitchen and turns back on Severus, “Heard that our heroic lovebirds have parted ways? I'm not talking about Ron Weasley and his curly girlfriend of course, but about Harry Potter and the youngest Weasley. Who would have thought! I shouldn't have bet ten galleons on their wedding.”

Severus couldn’t care less; he is finished with Potter and can now observe the little brat ruining his own life. If McGonagall doesn't rush to set the Gryffindor idiot's brain straight, nothing good will come out of James and Lily's offspring. He is a weak and short-sighted idiot who hasn’t inherited a drop of his mother's generosity, but more than enough of his father's narrow-mindedness.

Tom puts a glass of rum in front of him and says, “You look pale, buddy. Break-ups are a soft spot for you? Girlfriend problems?”

Snape wonders what exactly Tom sees on his face, but takes the rum and swallows everything down, then starts coughing and tries to wait out the terrible burn in his throat. Alcohol was a bad idea.

“It will be alright," Tom continues and winks at him, "There are still many fish in the sea, man up! Maybe you can even catch the Weasley girl’s eye, since she's single now! Gingers are the most temperamental ones.”

The bartender puts the chops on the table, and Severus pierces it with a fork carefully; it is tender and delicious, he realizes with surprise after having chewed a couple of bites. He had already forgotten the taste of spices, since he is used to bland mashed potatoes and porridge. His throat will hurt for a few more days because of the pepper, but now such suffering seems insignificant compared to the taste of the chops.

Severus closes his eyes and tries to distance himself from the feeling of his throat being slowly torn to pieces. The exchange of pleasure for pain seems so natural to him that he does not even think about using the painkiller he always has in his pocket.

“Although, frankly speaking, it is a shame that the Weasley girl left him. They say he had proposed before the Battle," the bartender says, and Severus chokes, and the pain explodes in the throat like the burning of hell.

“_Respirato_," Tom waves his wand, and Severus can finally breathe.

His throat still feels consumed in hellish flames. Severus pushes the plate away, throws two galleons for the rum and chops on the table and leaves the bar without saying goodbye. Muggles in the underground are staring at him suspiciously when he coughs, they step away to the other end of the carriage as if he were contagious. He doesn't care about them, he feels claustrophobic, surrounded by metal and glass. Damn Potter, who manages to ruin his day even from across the country.

Who would propose in the final year of school? Apparently, only Potters, it's their family stupidity. All pureblood wizards get engaged after school, and it lasts more than a year – there is plenty of time to change their minds. What was this Gryffindor dunderhead thinking about? Ginevra is an exact copy of her mother, she is stubborn, wants to control everybody, and there were a lot of rumors about her explosive character in school; the girl was throwing Bat-Bogey Hex like it was nothing. Now it turns out that the redhead dumped him. Foolish, of course, being from a family of blood traitors, she wouldn’t find a better match than the Boy-Who-Lived.

Severus gets to his flat, falls on the sofa and waits for the transformation. The burning has decreased down to a slight throb. Snape doesn't feel any discomfort in his knee which seems to prove the saying “if you step on a cat’s tail, its teeth will stop hurting”.

An owl scratches at the windowsill, loaded with several bags of ingredients, and Severus has to get up to let it in, and then look for galleons at the bottom of a chest; he has spent almost everything in the bookshop. The outrageously expensive “Impotens” confirms his speculation about the treatment, he needs an anti-inflammatory balm, prostate massage, and regular masturbation. Of course, the recipe is a little different from what Severus thought it would be, but some modifications for such an intimate sphere should have been expected.

He places knives, a burner and a cauldron on the table and wonders what would happen if it doesn’t work. What if impotence is the consequence of some dark-magic curse, and his body is shutting down gradually, starting with the penis and his left knee. Severus makes a sharp swing of his wand over the potion and the accumulated magic deserts him, leaving tingling numbness in the hand.

The balm is translucent, it looks and feels like semen, and the whole situation seems ironic to Snape. He checks with "Impotens", and the patient should be as relaxed and positive as possible, but how on earth can a man be in a positive mood with such a problem?

He takes his pants and underwear off, puts them on the armrest and lies on the sofa, stretches his legs. His right hand feels dead up to his shoulder, and he'll probably have to do the procedure with his left one. He soaks his fingers in the balm and shoves them into his rectum. The balm is good; the modified composition makes the penetration easy and painless, but the position is so uncomfortable that the back muscles cramp immediately. Severus curses Merlin angrily, tries to feel the promised bump of the prostate gland, gets to something with his finger, and as soon as he tries to put some pressure on it, the burning pain comes in shuddering waves.

He used to chase after Potter and pull him out of dangerous situations as a spy. Was it worth falling apart at thirty-seven? 

Snape clenches his jaw, tries to stretch his back muscles and pokes his prostate several times. It hurts about half as much as a Crucio, and a few cloudy drops drip out of his limp penis. His left hand starts cramping and the thought that the Dark Mark could be active again creeps upon him with a chilling horror. Severus cannot endure any more of this torturous healing, so he pulls out his fingers and straightens himself up on the sofa, and looks at his forearm involuntarily. The ugly tattoo is still pale and lifeless.

Severus boils with contemptuous anger at himself, his own body and, of course, Potter. The stupid boy hasn't even found basic common sense yet if he was entertaining the idea of tying himself to a small copy of Molly Weasley. Snape gets up, grabs "Impotens" and throws it into the wall with all his might. His back muscles flare up painfully, and Severus grinds his teeth, powerless and livid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The author's fantasy about impotence and its treatment in the wizarding world differs from the facts of real medicine.
> 
> Bless amazing Gumi for dealing with my horrible English and making it less horrible ❤


	4. Chapter 4

Villeroy Vindictus writes that a prostate massage with the balm is required daily, but the effect is not going to be instantaneous; except for the improvement of the reproductive system, every honorable wizard who has fallen victim to such an insidious affliction must seek to restore the healthy color of his aura. According to the records, dark aura spots appear after certain spells - from _Seco_ to the Unforgivables – and then lead to chronic illness. In his time, Severus has experienced them all and they with no doubt tore him apart. The last straw, apparently, was the poison from the Dark Lord's horcrux, and the bowl of his health broke, draining the former Potions professor dry through the cracks.

Blocking aura energy seems more detrimental than temporary magical exhaustion, but at least the melancholy and the health problems are now explainable. There is an effective potion for any problem, but Severus finds himself unsure about the reaction of all the potions he’s taking with one another. The consequences of reckless and spur of the moment decision might crush him, finishing the job Nagini started. 

He barely suffers through the second session of prostate massage; no miracle happens when Severus is honestly trying to relax, flipping through erotic magazines to get into the mood, and works his right hand. The pressure on the inflamed gland is extremely painful, but the most challenging thing is to find a position in which he doesn’t get cramps, and he gives up all hope of finding it. His back and arm flare up in pain if Snape lies on his side, and if on his back, he just can't reach. “Impotens" does not cover the issue of positioning at all, and in the muggle book on male health they recommend to find a qualified doctor... or an understanding and patient lover.

There can be no lover for Severus if his penis remains unresponsive to caresses, and the mere idea of turning to Poppy is too humiliating. For many years, he has been stifling his own life and the mediwitch would surely shake her head and give him lectures. He hates the very thought of trusting her.

It's really idiotic, more so than the Potter brat; he surely has no intimate issues at all, although it would be priceless if the she-Weasley left the Hero because of potency problems; Skeeter would choke on the size of the rumor. But now the nosy scribbler is writing the twentieth multipage opus about Severus's undying love for Lily Evans, thanks to Potter. Potter, Potter, Potter! The former Potions professor would not even think about the boy, had he expressed his feelings in their latest "meeting", but he, unfortunately, did not have enough strength to break the dimwit's nose.

Every day it is harder for him to go outside, he lies on the sofa and looks into the emptiness all day long, and he winds himself up about the scar-headed Hero, stands next to a cauldron and slowly, as if in a dream, prepares the ingredients. Side effects will be unpleasant, so the potion is usually used under the strict supervision of a doctor, but Severus does not care; he will never go to Mungo. The brewed fluid is flawless: translucent, with a subtle oil-like film. The former professor pours it into miniature bottles, confidently takes three sips directly from the ladle, then washes the workplace and returns to the small, old sofa.

It starts gradually as if small waves of an icy tide surround his body. The discomforting pressure feels too real and there is nothing around that can serve as a distraction. Severus doesn't like his flat, it's too small, empty, grey and silent; Mrs. Yates’s has a completely different energy. Snape doesn’t feel cornered when he is a guest at her place but his own muggle home is a deadly trap. He wants to get out immediately, but he knows that this feeling is just a side effect of the potion, and in his state, it's better to stay in anyway.

Severus changes his mind as soon as the ceiling sags a little and starts going down, and the walls move straight towards him. He jumps out of the flat so quickly that he almost forgets his wand, shoes, and coat. He dresses on the stairs, goes through his pockets, finds the portkey, and, guided by the thorny turmoil originating in the solar plexus, leaves.

Muggles turn their heads, surprised by his disheveled look. He tries to smooth his hair, squeezes the cool metal of the locket in his hand and walks towards the park. He doesn't like his neighborhood, he's irritated by the kids running down the streets, he's shaking with emotions and twisting wish to escape this muggle hell.

A stocky, frowning man with receding hairline sitting on a bench reminds him of Alastor Moody, and Severus abruptly turns to the other side of the road, trying to calm the frenziedly beating pulse in his throat. The dead keep returning to him. Is it finally time to stop running from Death and greet him as an old friend? Snape hasn't really lived yet, and his innate stubbornness, inherited from his mother, along with his excessive self-sacrifice, nips thoughts of the other world in the bud.

He struggles to get away from the hedge, tries to calm down, but the disgusting potion twits his mind, tearing him from the inside.

A family with a stroller passes by - a red-haired woman in a beige coat and a black-haired man in oval glasses - and one look at them makes the locket, which he has been squeezing between his fingers, fall out of Severus’s hand. The dead call him over the line, they demand justice, they are everywhere. He can't even pick up the bloody carved metal with his numb fingers, and the air is stuck in his throat - where Nagini bit him – at neither exhale nor inhale. Severus finds the strength to press the portkey into the ground and wheeze, "Hogsmeade! Hogsmeade!" Magic pulls him into a funnel by his intestines, throws him right into the bushes next to the Three Broomsticks, and be damned Villeroy Vindictus if he's still alive.

Lucky for him that all wizards know the Spell of Empty Bladder, otherwise the smell of the cold ground under his back would be different. Severus looks up, and instead of the usual dull ceiling of his muggle's flat, he sees the blue sky with wispy clouds. When the cold becomes intolerable, Snape forces himself up and looks out of the bushes; the street is deserted. He grabs the locket, gets up to his full height, shakes yellow leaves off his coat, and slowly as if trying to resist _Imperio_, drags his feet towards the main gates of the school. Severus does not see the dead here; he doesn’t see anyone.

Hogwarts seems to have survived a powerful earthquake, and Snape tries to imagine how bad it had been before the reconstruction began. The school stone walls have gaping wounds, and it's a miracle that Gryffindor Tower hasn't collapsed yet. The place where the Slytherin dorms used to be is completely flooded by a lake, and Severus feels satisfied that there are no more dungeons, and this emotion turns into joy, and then into such immense happiness so fake that he wants to cry, and he doesn't care what happens to his aura, let him remain a disabled squib forever, but he will never drink that bloody potion again. 

He looks around, suppressing the inappropriate desire to jump like a child to get rid of extra energy. Severus doesn't want to be noticed, he doesn't understand how he got here at all, but the fact remains that the horrible feeling of claustrophobia and hopelessness that was suffocating him in muggle London has disappeared.

Having reached the main gates, Severus stops and observes what is left of Hogwarts. It reminds him of Albus and the Astronomical Tower, and of his own work as a headmaster in the previous academic year, when he was despised by everyone. Minerva apologized and offered her help in her first letter after the war, but he knows she would have traded his life for the senior Creevey or the Weasley twin without a second thought. He would have, too. If the value of someone's existence could be measured by the number of people who sincerely cherish the person without trying to use them, the former Potions professor would be worth a zero. Perhaps Mrs. Yates would be upset if new people came to the flat if he were to die, and the scarheaded idiot would be crying, rushing to clear his name posthumously.

Only a completely brainless creature could arrange such a circus in the newspapers with his imaginary love for Lily Evans. How Potter reached such a striking conclusion still remains a mystery to Snape. It is likely that the boy had seen something in his memories before the former spy activated a portkey to a familiar healer indebted to him with his life. Snape survived, and Potter seems to have drawn such moronic conclusions and is now tormenting the newspapers with tales of sacrifice and eternal love. Boundless Gryffindor stupidity.

Severus is so immersed in his thoughts that he flinches when he hears a hesitant voice.

"Professor?”

He turns around, trying to preserve his neutral face, and sees a crowd of last year's sixth-year students in dusty working robes.

“Professor, we are so glad you're alive! The newspapers wrote that you were okay, but nobody saw you...” murmurs a girl, and Severus recognizes her; Lilith Bennett, Ravenclaw, pureblood.

Snape feels helpless among his former students, he didn’t even notice how they approached. His head is empty, he can't concentrate, he misses details, and if anyone thought to get even with him now, he would make an extremely easy target. Severus observes his former students attentively, noticing that only a couple of ravenclaws looks hospitable, while the rest - hufflepuffs and gryffindors - are silent and tense. The children have many reasons to wish him harm, especially after the atrocities of the past academic year, and when they surround him, blocking his only line to retreat, he barely retains a calm exterior.

“Miss Bennett,” he nods with dignity, “I'm glad to see you in good health.”

“Sir, have you come to see the headmistress? Do you want to accept her offer?” asks the ravenclaw, barely hiding her enthusiasm, and the others are waiting for an answer too, all showing hostility.

Severus wants to bark that it's none of her business, but it is hardly the time to show his temper.

“I'm here to make suggestions about Hogwarts' reconstruction.”

“All the details of the reconstruction have already been approved."

Severus could recognize this loud and obnoxious tone from thousands of voices; he had the displeasure of working with Molly Weasley in the Order. She-Weasley Jr. is just like her, and these redheaded bitches piss him off.

“Headmistress McGonagall has a different opinion on the matter, Miss Weasley," Severus turns to her and curls his lips in a terrible resemblance of a smile.

He had successfully ignored both of them until Molly began to give Dumbledore ultimatums, and her daughter started to sabotage his work as a headmaster, when the most important task was to prevent the Carrow siblings from hurting the children, and at the same time make sure that the Gryffindor Golden Boy and Co. didn't die.

“I think that many would agree with me if I said that you are not welcome here.” Ginevra’s voice is confident and loud, the gryffindors near her nod, the hufflepuffs are silent, not daring to openly go against the former professor, and miss Bennett and her Ravenclaw friend are shushing unhappily.

“Why don’t you ask your heroic fiancé if he thinks my presence in the castle is inappropriate," says Severus, and he notices quite clearly how the youngest Weasley's face is changing, and at the same time how the rest of the former six-year students look at her with interest. His ability to exploit the weaknesses of his opponents has not disappeared with his magic, and it's soothing. “Oh, yes, he is no longer your fiancé, is he? You left the poor boy who had defeated the Dark Lord in an honest duel. Do his words mean nothing to you now? You should be grateful to me, and Harry James Potter is ready to confirm it to any wizard in this country. I am a war veteran, Miss Weasley, and I have done more for the victory than your entire family.”

“Don't you dare talk about my family!” the redhead screams and pulls out her wand.

The potion pushes overwhelming fear through his veins, that Severus won't be able to defend himself, and the children will not have the brains to stop the girl. He swallows a couple of insults to her mother and returns to the topic of the abandoned hero.

“By the way, why did you leave Potter? Of course, relationships are a personal matter, but I've been doing my best to keep the Gryffindor Golden Boy safe and sound for so many years, and I'm used to worrying about him. He had to become a murderer for the good of the wizarding world, and then he got rejected by the girl he loved... Is he not good enough for you? Or maybe you couldn't give him the support he deserved? You didn’t like the fact that he needed time to recover, you wanted to take advantage of his fame immediately, didn’t you?”

He speaks with hidden glee, and it always works, it distracts the children from his eccentric muggle clothes and the reasons behind his presence at Hogwarts.

“You don't know anything, you vile bastard!” The redheaded is yelling, and her face is covered withan ugly blush, when her Gryffindor friends finally drag her away.

Severus has no way out but to get to the construction site, and he wonders what, for Merlin’s sake, Potter sees in the she-Weasley. He understood his father, Potter Sr., even without being attracted to the fairer sex; Lily Evans was charming, with good manners and a gentle temper, but Ginevra is a foolish wench with a boyish figure.

Times have changed, and Severus feels an aching yearning for the past. Students used to respect their professors back then. Apparently, only the hufflepuffs have at least some sense of propriety, and they are mumbling to him apologetically.

Lilith Bennett catches up with him and his anger burns out.

“Sorry, professor! After the funeral, everyone is shaken. I'm lucky I didn't lose any of my close relatives and friends, but Ginny...”

“Don't apologize for the things you are not responsible for, miss Bennett. People do tend to blame those who are willing to be blamed, and you wouldn't want that.”

Severus realizes that it sounds too soft, so similar to the late headmaster, but this time the potion does not push overwhelming irritation through his body, and he enjoys a sudden feeling of calmness.

“Some of the former sixth-year students have returned to help the school. The rest will be back next year when we finish the Gryffindor tower and Ravenclaw wing. It’s not clear what will happen to the dungeons so far... Come with me, sir, I’ll show you what we have already rebuilt!”

There will be more people, and Severus starts panicking again but nods anyway; it is unacceptable to show fear in front of children. The Bennett girl doesn't notice his changing mood and chatters faster than the Hogwarts-Express.

“You are right, sir, about what you have said to them. No one really knows why Ginny left Harry, she hasn’t talked to him since she came here. He tried to apologize, and then he just shut himself away. Now he's running around helping the headmistress McGonagall with the school errands. Why would Ginny leave him like that? He didn't cheat on her, he didn't insult her, he gets along with her family… She doesn’t look like she's in love with somebody else either.”

He definitely liked it better when the kids were afraid of him, but now, thanks to Potter, his reputation is ruined to the point that a teenage girl is spilling this hormonal nonsense on him.

“I don't encourage gossips, Miss Bennett," he answers strictly.

“Sorry." The girl has the conscience to look ashamed. “Sir, there's the headmistress!”

Minerva is hurrying to them, and Severus feels incredibly relieved that he won't have to go near a construction site where he would be helpless.

“Severus, I am glad to see you!” says the headmistress but does not try to get any closer, respecting his personal space. “I hope you've changed your mind about my offer.”

He nods. Yesterday Severus counted the number of galleons he had, and Minerva's proposal suddenly became quite acceptable.

“However, I have conditions," he continues, and the headmistress nods carefully. “Separate rooms in Hogsmeade, a personal assistant, no physical and magical stress, three days off a week and a substantial advance payment.”

“You’ll have it all," McGonagall replies instantly.

Severus feels an acute flash of self-satisfaction when he realizes that the Hogwarts Council will accommodate him in any of his demands. It is almost an erotic feeling to know that he is wanted so badly that they are ready to satisfy all of his wishes.

Severus says his goodbyes to Minerva and turns towards Hogsmeade. The road is deserted again, and he feels warmth in his chest, slowly spreading down his stomach to his limbs, smoothing his ragged nerves like a gentle, attentive lover. His back muscles relax under the soft heat, and for the first time in a long while - perhaps in years - he feels something similar to being at peace.

The former Potions professor pulls his wand out of a special pocket in his pants, waves it easily, calling the Knight Bus, and magic does not make his hand grow numb this time; it flows freely and warmly through his veins, as if an icy river has finally melted in the sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Gumi helped me to make the chapter more presentable! ❤


	5. Chapter 5

In monotonous grey colors of his life some days are harder than the others. When Severus waves his wand to make a cup of tea, the glass explodes with a deafening sound as if after _Bombarda_. Stunned, he watches as blood droplets are slowly soaking through the small tears in his white shirt, shakes off his clothes and tries to pull small shards out of his skin with a special tweezer that he usually uses for granular ingredients.

"Samuel? Are you all right? I’ve heard a terrible noise," asks his neighbor through the door.

Severus feels like a naughty schoolboy, shouting in response, "My tea service crashed, Mrs. Yates! I hope it didn't bother you too much."

"Oh, it's okay, dear! Watch out for the shards!"

Severus doesn’t hear her answer, he drops down on the floor unable to overcome dizziness. Magic does not meet obstacles, it is pouring out without a chance to keep even a single drop inside. He is falling apart, his thoughts crumble like the cookies of his compassionate neighbor, and every minute is about to complete what Nagini failed to do. The potion for removing energy blocks from the aura must be taken under the strict control of healers because the reaction to the change in the energy background is always unpredictable and purely individual.

Some days are much, much harder for him, more painful and hopeless than those from memories given to Harry Potter during the Final Battle. They are as dreadful as to claim that a young 17-year-old boy full of life, whom he had been protecting for many years, must voluntarily meet death for everyone else to survive, and realize that he would do it.

The thought about Potter makes him wish he could forget everything, get rid of constant pain, shameful weaknesses and debts he would never be able to repay, to start over again. He could move to some distant village, break his wand and drink the Oblivion Potion, but Snape hasn’t been tainted by somebody else. It’s all his own inner rot that makes his life so abominable, and no one can run away from themselves.

Severus wishes he had someone to talk to. He used to play chess with Regulus Black, drink calvados with Philius, and help Poppy Pomfrey with healing potions, but Regulus is long dead and Hogwarts is out of reach. He is alone with himself in his muggle flat, and it is the most abysmal company. 

Severus mechanically cleans up the numerous small glass cuts on his skin, applies a potion from a dark vial and winces in pain. He takes another vial from his wooden chest, opens the lid and takes a sip. His throat closes up involuntarily, the tongue sticks to the soft palate, preventing a dangerous dosage of the Sleeping Potion from being taken. Such a shame. The former professor puts the vial back with a sigh, reaches the tiny creaking sofa, falls on it and blacks out.

The following morning repels all bad ideas, putting them in the background, just like the sea takes away garbage from the shore into its cold deep waters. The side effects of the poorly brewed Sleeping Potion, ordered by owl mail, make his head and body feel slow and alien. Severus prepares fresh porridge, then, struggling as if knee-deep in water, goes to Tesco, buys fresh bread, a new mug - a simple white thing without any decoration - and pushes himself back to his flat.

His body hurts constantly; Severus hasn’t felt painless since the very moment he neutralized the painkillers, and the muscles of his back cramp up as he removes his coat, clumsily trying to pull his arm out of a sleeve. He falls on the sofa, looking at the muggle books on the table with dazed eyes, and considers his life. He thinks of everything happening to his aging bones; a slow agony of a doomed man.

When Severus was a petty, sniveling boy, he often imagined that he would suddenly die – painlessly and quickly - and his mother would cry at the coffin, cursing herself that she had done nothing to get away from her alcoholic husband, hadn’t protected and loved him enough. Now, lying on the sofa of his muggle flat, the former professor thinks that death could never be painless or quick, and his mother, by all signs, had been cursed by the Princes for a lifelong servitude to her husband. She cared for Severus in her own way, diverting Tobias’s cruel attention from her son to herself. Severus has been as protective of many generations of Hogwarts students, but they, just like him in his youth, do not feel grateful. They are offended. They cannot or don’t want to see the whole picture. The road to the truth seems endless, and perhaps the idiots would realize something in ten or twenty years, but there will have been nothing left of Snape by then.

Even Potter Jr., having looked into his most painful memories, never understood anything fully. Perhaps his unfortunate desire to meet and ask for forgiveness, mentioned by McGonagall in early letters, is sincere, but the blunt-headed gryffindor is sure everything that happened in Snape’s life was done for the sake of Lily Evans. Severus refuses to accept apologies based on such short-sighted conclusions.

He shifts his gaze to the shameless book about male health and thinks that he does need another session of a prostate massage. He used to think about anal stimulation as a pleasant intimate practice between two lovers, not a painful medical procedure. The process itself would be more comfortable with a partner, who could soothe the burning and distract with a hand on his cock or even fellatio…

Severus sighs at the thought of oral sex and pulls his pants off. His penis looks slightly swollen but still soft, and Snape takes it in his hand, shifting the skin carefully. He is impatient, and the touch feels pleasant, but nothing more. If only he could use something for stimulation, allowing him to avoid cramps and be more comfortable getting to the prostate.

Literature wasn’t the only type of goods in the sex-shop, and it lights up in his head like _Lumus Maxima_. Severus rises from the sofa with a grunt, pulls his pants up, straightens his shirt, takes his coat from the hanger and goes out to the stairwell. He heads into the muggle stronghold of sin and dirty fantasies, and only his iron self-control prevents him from a shameful escape when Severus notices other buyers in the shop.

He hopes that his subconscious will not see the dead this time. It would be too much.

Severus takes a look at a familiar shop-assistant and waits patiently for her to finish talking with a quiet woman at the cash register. He is surrounded by penises and vaginas - black, transparent, pink, beige, so bright that it hurts his eyes – and he is among shameless muggles who use these. It seems like the culmination of his moral collapse; he is willingly immersing himself into the abyss.

Paranoia is a loyal friend who Snape has gone through thick and thin with, and it burns him inside, telling him that someone is watching. So when a girl in a purple polo-shirt approaches him, he leans closer and utters quietly, "I need a device to facilitate prostate massage. Small size, no latex, no mechanisms. Do not show, just pack and tell the price."

The shop assistant nods and leaves somewhere into the depths of the sex-shop without a single word. Snape looks around with an indifferent expression, notices the short brown-haired man about his age who is openly observing him.

Aurors are here. He has been found. 

Severus staggers back and tries to find his wand in the pocket of his coat. If he were to take hostages, the auror would hesitate, and Snape would be able to activate the portkey to Hogsmeade. He feels the beating of his pulse in the scars of his throat, watching the man slowly approaching him. All the customers could be fake, the building could be covered by the Anti-Apparation charm, and the binding nets of the portkey could have been severed remotely. Severus turns pale and looks around.

The shop assistant appears silently in front of him and gestures to the cash register. He pays without looking, trying not to stare at the auror directly, completely absorbed, and he squeezes the wand so hard that he can’t feel his fingers. The pitiful remains of his magic are ready to burst out of control any second. How arrogant must he be to imagine a happy ending?

The auror stops a meter away from him and says, "If you are interested in such pornography, I could suggest something."

"Excuse me?" wheezes Snape.

"You have been examining the display here, so I thought that you might be interested in male opinion," answers the auror and gives the shop-assistant a polite smile. "In addition to professional advice of the lady who works here, of course."

"Thank you, but I am in a hurry," Severus grabs the opaque package and heads to the door, trying to be inconspicuously alert.

No curse hits him on the way out of the shop, in the street, or at the stairs. Snape’s hands are shaking. He feels like a muggle balloon, weakly deflating. He feels senile, and shriveled, fragile, pathetic; he doesn't understand what just happened. 

The man from the sex-shop was not handsome, but he looked at Snape like he wanted something from him, and that look burned him through. "Male opinion", didn't he say it like that? Severus has never been flirted with, but his knowledge of the art of seduction leads to the idea that he hasn’t smelled a hint of intimacy that was lying right under his big paranoid nose.

His body reacts again, and Severus feels almost excited for the second time in a day. He shakes the purchase out of the bag, opens the box, and inspects a slightly bent appliance less than an inch in diameter. There are instructions too, and Snape gives it even more attention, touching his crotch at the same time so as not to miss the beginning of an erection.

The prostate massager is made of silicone, and the material shouldn’t react with the antibacterial ointment. Severus takes out the correct vial from the chest, smears the contents generously along the length of the stimulant, and pulls off his pants. He tries to make himself as comfortable as possible on the sofa, then exhales in annoyance, rises and goes to the bedroom. A shooting pain causes him to wince as he climbs onto the mattress, situating his lone pillow near the headboard.

His anus is used to regular stretching, but his body tenses involuntarily, anticipating painful tingles in the prostate. When Severus pushes the very tip inside his slight arousal disappears, and vague thoughts of male broad shoulders don't spark excitement.

Snape slides down the sheets, trying to relax. He doesn’t need to bend to force the massager inside, and Severus spreads his legs wider, directing the stimulator to the right place. It’s a miracle that a deeper penetration ceases to be unpleasant, it becomes almost bearable. Perhaps he could even enjoy anal sex if his hands and back wouldn’t cramp up and he wouldn’t have to move vigorously.

Severus imagines himself spread out on a bed in the seastar pose, taking a hard cock, and his penis swells up treacherously.

It is a pity that Snape with his old, jaded body can only lie back and think of England. If he were twenty again, he would never decide on the Impotence potion. He would look at the seventh-year students, at their strong hands and shoulders, well developed by quidditch practice, and arrange exhaustingly long and sweet masturbation in the evening, savoring every moment. Perhaps he would free the weekends and go to London. If his rough, exhausted features can arouse interest in muggles like in that brown-haired man he mistook for an auror, Snape would have had success with men seventeen years ago.

Severus moves the massager gently and caresses his penis, but he can’t achieve a strong erection. He’s impatient; his body is unsatisfied, yet he is almost happy, because the fear that he will forever remain impotent, having never tried anything in his life, was too strong. Now he has clear progress with his intimate health, and soon, very soon, he will be able to come. The former Potions professor hasn’t achieved orgasm for many years, is it the reason why his temper has become so rotten?

Severus finishes the massage, and with a squeamish expression pulls out the stimulator and heads to the bathroom. He rinses the silicone and takes a short shower, moving his shoulders and hands carefully, then cracks his back. Perhaps afterwards Snape should take care of his joints because even ancient Dumbledore’s bones did not make such sounds. Although, it is also possible that the late headmaster cast local muffling charms on his robes.

When Severus returns to the living room, he checks his wallet and considers it just the time to remind Minerva of her promised advance payment.

Financial issues, unfortunately, can't be solved via owl, so Severus suppresses the feeling of acute anxiety from a possible meeting with teenage gryffindors thirsty for revenge. He puts on his best and only suit, brushes his hair carefully, and activates the portkey to Hogsmeade.

The bushes Severus stumbles into seem familiar, but this time the road is deserted, so no one sees his shameful fall into the depths of magical flora. Everyone is busy at the construction site, and Snape finds himself making it to the headmistress's office the long way round. He feels like a spy again, as if he's doing something bad but necessary, and Severus tries to shake that feeling off, purposely keeping his shoulders back.

"Severus," Minerva greets him as though he is the head of Slytherin once again, and his wards have just had another fight with the students of her house. "I’ve been waiting for you."

"Headmistress," he nods, "I would like to discuss the advance payment."

She replies with a sudden smile, "Your dislike of small talks has always appealed to me."

An elf brings them milk tea, and Minerva dwells on what burden the Hogwarts Council and she are so eager to put on his shoulders. As expected, they need him to do the ritual of closing the flooded dungeons, deal with the slytherins, and manage the construction of a new wing for his house.

"As for an assistant," the headmistress continues, "I’m thinking of George Weasley. He is familiar with the castle plan and will be able to help with the layouts..."

"Unacceptable," Snape cuts her off.

"He..."

"Out of question! I'm not working with him."

Weasley is unlikely to agree to such cooperation, too. Severus could have used another curse to push the boy out of _Expulso_ trajectory, but the words were already spoken, and he only needed to direct his wand. He had too little time to think of something else.

Severus has always considered himself the lesser evil, but evil nevertheless.

"Well, who would you prefer?" Minerva chooses not to argue with him. "Harry has offered his help..."

"No," barks Snape.

"The boy really wants to talk to you."

However, Severus really doesn’t. He can talk about the boy, rake him over the coals, but meeting him face to face - dear Merlin, no. The moor has done his duty, the moor can go*, and Snape has nothing more to say to the only Potter alive. The Savior wishes to apologize, clear his conscience, but if Severus accepted his apology, he would have to apologize himself.

Snape sent the boy to his death and the boy wants to say sorry. What a joke.

"Harry hasn’t been the same since the battle. He tries to be everywhere, he’s not sleeping, he’s not talking to his friends either. I think he really needs to unburden himself," says the headmistress.

Severus thinks, ‘Isn't it just what I need right now,’ and recalls his muggle books on psychology.

"So, an assistant. What about Miss Bennett?"

"I've heard that young Lilith is competent enough for her age," replies the wall behind him, and if Snape could physically turn his head faster, he would have broken his neck.

The late headmaster is looking at him from one of the portraits, and Severus shudders inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * From Schiller’s "Fiesco's Conspiracy at Genoa”. 
> 
> Amazing Absinthe and Gumi did wonders with this chapter! ♥♥♥


	6. Chapter 6

Minerva purses her lips and passes the key to a Gringotts vault into his cold hands. Severus physically feels the pallor of his face as he weakly accepts a portkey to the apparation point closest to his flat. He activates the plastic keychain in such a rush that for him the speech of the headmistress finishes at the introduction.

Of course, the portrait of Dumbledore hangs in the headmaster's office, where else would it be? However, seeing and hearing Albus, both dead and so alive on the canvas, is very hard, causing the old spring in Severus’s stomach to coil again. He feels sick. For Merlin’s sake, he is sick all the time, as if he, a dirty worm, has risen too high, and the soil is beckoning him back into dirt, pulling him down by the guts.

His good old friend, his mentor, the hero of wizarding Britain, who lied to him for the common good and nearly seized the last thing preventing Severus from falling into the abyss of hopelessness. He thought, ‘At least the Potter brat is alive,’ and he was absolved of all the sins that he had committed during the Death Eaters’ raids. Potter is still alive and well, albeit a bit out of sorts, since he got involved with the youngest of the Weasleys. Severus is out of sorts too - a lot.

The front door closes with a loud bang, the sofa creaks thinly under the weight of the former Potions professor. For a year and a half, he was sure that Potter was doomed, yet it turned out that the chances of his survival were quite large. For a year and a half, Severus hardly slept, trying to find a loophole, over and over facing the headmaster’s refusals to show him some of the most important grimoires. Albus knew everything, but kept silent; and Potter is alive.

What did he expect from the portrait? Tearful apologies? Albus never knew any regrets. On the other hand, the phrase “Forgive me, my boy” would have been even more empty and cheap than silence of the past. Dumbledore wouldn’t admit his mistakes in front of Minerva, the damned knight in shining armor.

Snape turns over, brushing aside the heavy thoughts, and tries to make his leg comfortable so that his knee doesn’t ache. When he returns to Hogwarts, the hungry press will either make a saint out of him or a devil; then Severus will become the main target of the post-war period. No, he can’t get rid of this tiny London flat. It will remain his quiet, heavily armed corner of paranoia - his backup plan.

He needs to remove the blocks from his aura if he wants to survive this.

He rises from the sofa with a grunt and swallows two drops from a vial. The thin, oily film of the potion covers his mouth and throat, settles on the teeth, and fills his nose with a faint anise smell. Severus cowardly reaches for the Sleeping potion; one humiliating moment in front of his former students was more than enough for him, and let the consequences be damned.

The unmade bed in the dark bedroom creeks as he tumbles upon it fully clothed. Severus' trousers and shirt have probably begun to smell, but he is so used to it that he wouldn’t notice. The old rags he’s wearing are as vile as their former owner - Tobias. Let all of it be cursed three times. All but Potter; the boy has suffered too much in his short life. Potter has had enough.

Throbbing pain is twisting his calves from the inside, but the cloudy feeling of the Sleeping draught has already enveloped his consciousness. Severus is aching, and he has lost track of what potions he needs to take to soothe his sore body. This is an old-man feeling. He’s fully confident that it is only going to get worse and nothing can stop the launched mechanism of destruction. His hopes for a sexual partner, even a muggle, seem frankly ridiculous. In such agony of body and soul, his torn throat and fading scars do not bother him in the slightest. It’s the little things, they say.

Severus falls asleep in pain, and wakes up feeling anguish. He cannot move, his muscles are so cramped up. For about an hour Snape tries to wait it out, then, finally, he manages to get to the chest, take the Relaxation potion, and curl on the floor. He knew that it was inadvisable to combine yesterday’s potions, he knew about the consequences, but underestimated their force.

He withstands the beginning of the day, his daily routine - bathroom, ointment, breakfast - but finds no strength to walk to Tesco. His knees tremble, and the very idea that he will need to come to Hogwarts during the day to move his things fills him with cold horror. No one must see Severus Snape in such a state.

Such thoughts cease when it gets worse; everything is floating as if in a fog, his mental shields bursting like a soap bubble. The painfully familiar ceiling over the sofa tells him that his life is not going anywhere. He is stuck at the very bottom - a miserable old man among the youngsters, who drank all his blood and threw him away empty.

There is a knock on the door, and Severus reaches the hallway on unbending legs. He has nothing more to give, he’ll say that.

“Samuel? Are you home? Samuel!” calls his neighbor, Mrs. Yates. She goes into his apartment without invitation, pushing him aside effortlessly like it’s nothing. Dear Merlin, he’s so weak. “Oh gosh, not again. You look terrible! You need a doctor.”

The boat of his mortal body lurches to the left, and Mrs. Yates catches him by the elbow.

“Good Lord, go to bed immediately!”

Severus slowly goes around the hallway and living room, making sure that all the cauldrons are securely hidden, and obediently falls on the sofa. The neighbor runs off to her apartment and returns with rags to brush off the dust.

The air is poisoned when she opens the windows wide. Severus is poisoned; sooner or later what Nagini failed to finish he will complete by self-medication. The only thing Snape fears at the moment is to become a ghost after death. Potter would not be happy to catch the restless shadow of his former professor on his heels. The snot has got enough for this life; the scales of justice should have been balanced. Not by She-Weasley, of course, but...

The apartment is cold, and Severus huddles up involuntarily. Mrs. Yates pulls off the bedspread from the back of the sofa and covers him like a small child. Severus feels like a flobberworm, but he has no strength to resist the brisk neighbor. She reminds him of his own mother, and for a second he even sees aged Eileen Prince with a guilty sad smile, but the illusion subsides quickly .

The neighbor gasps, and he vaguely realizes that perhaps his living conditions don’t look acceptable, but neither does he - resembling an inferius, rather than an average 37-year-old man. When Mrs. Yates enters the kitchen and grunts approvingly, Snape smiles, because the kitchen is the heated heart of his apartment. Let everything else burn down in flames. He himself has already burned down and is now suffering from phantom pains.

“Samuel, look at me,” the neighbor demands, returning to the living room. “What’s going on? Have you got fever? Is your condition exacerbating?”

Severus covers his eyes with his hand and replies, “Yes, it’s like that. I just need to wait it out.”

He doesn’t say, “All my muscles ache, because I’m an old fool and took two incompatible potions. My head feels empty from a poorly brewed sleeping potion, and my professional pride hurts, because most likely the one who brewed the draught was my student. I hardly notice the discomfort in my throat amid this agony.” He also does not say, “I have erectile dysfunction, and I’m a damn half-wizard who cannot use his wand for its intended purpose.” Moreover, he does not say that he lives by inertia and waits for an end.

Instead, Severus acknowledges, “I believe you were right, Mrs. Yates. I'm depressed.”

“Samuel, please, remember that you are not alone. You can always turn to your old neighbor, and I will gladly help,” the woman smiles at him almost motherly. “You also have your young men, the ones I saw not long ago”.

He doesn’t have them, he is them. Isn’t it ironic? In the end, he only has himself. 

“I’ll leave painkillers on the table and there’s a phone number of a nice therapist. Don’t refuse, but contact her when you are ready. Maybe you should call one of your young men?”

Severus recalls the misunderstanding with the Polyjuice potion and grunts in acknowledgement. He thanks the compassionate neighbor for her help, promises to think about the therapist and, finally, says that he is tired. Mrs. Yates clearly does not want to leave him alone in this state, but she understands that Severus needs peace, so she accepts a promise to call a doctor if it gets worse, and leaves, muttering something about foolish male pride.

Severus is ashamed that the elderly muggle saw him in such a deplorable state. The worse it gets, his consciousness becomes clouded, leaving him no other choice but to ask Poppy for help. Snape climbs off the sofa, swallows Restorative and Painkiller potions, and refreshes his clothes and hair with a spell. His hand doesn’t go numb this time, he only feels weaker. He puts on his coat and activates the portkey to Hogsmeade.

The first young witch who sees him turns pale under his stare, and points a finger to the nearby house, not daring to open her mouth when he wheezes, “Where is Pomfrey?” Severus drags his body to the wooden door and knocks loudly.

“Pepperup will be ready in an hour, just wait a bit!” shouts the mediwitch, and she gasps when she sees the state he’s in. “Severus!”

_Mobilcorpus_ catches him up as he slides into unconsciousness, and when he comes around, he is unsure whether it is morning or evening. The signal spell buzzes, and Poppy enters, crossing her arms.

“It wasn’t that bad,” denies Severus when her silence becomes too long. “The risk was justifiable. You think I wouldn’t notice if it were serious?”

“Not serious,” she mutters under her breath. “You have been unconscious for two days, and I still have no idea what potions you took! Severus, I won’t let you out of the room for at least five more days.”

He’d be outraged if at the moment Poppy weren’t stronger than him in every sense, and he always respected strength. She might as well bind him to the bed, feed him with a spoon, and use very unpleasant sanitary spells to her heart’s content.

“Your knee is healed now, the back and neck, too,” continues Pomfrey. “No more potions for you, I mean it. Complete bed rest, and proper, regular nutrition. When you get to your feet, do physical therapy exercises or oriental practices. No broomstick, no draining magic spells, no heroism; there are people to do everything for you. Lilith Bennett has already come to me. Do you remember her? As your assistant, she is to ensure that you won’t do anything foolish.”

Severus counts the seconds till the end of the five-day torture.

“Harry’s been here several times. Apparently, someone told him that you were at death’s door.”

Snape twitches involuntarily. “Don’t let Potter come in here!”

“Severus, the boy is worried about you,” Poppy sounds very concerned, but the former Potions professor stands his ground.

Snape might be worried about the idiot, too, but that doesn’t mean that they should see each other. It is perfectly possible to worry about each other remotely.

“Oh, and here is Miss Bennett. Come in, he’s already woken up,” calls Pomfrey, and Severus sighs, gathering his strength to meet the outside world. The girl reminds him of Granger. She has the same indefatigable energy with a hypertrophied sense of justice.

“Professor Snape!” She greets excitedly, and Severus's headache starts immediately.

“I am not a professor anymore, Miss Bennett,” he replies.

“Please, call me Lilith, otherwise I feel like I’m in Potions class!” the girl smiles, but immediately cuts herself short. “Oh, I'm sorry, I didn’t understand right away, of course, if it’s more convenient for you, I don’t insist at all...”

“What on earth are you talking about?” irritated Snape interrupts the flow of her excuses.

“Well, Lilith is so similar to Lily, I would not want to remind you... Everyone knows about your love. I'm sorry.”

Severus grinds his teeth. Merlin the Great, out of all the disgusting things he did in the past what exactly was it that deserves such karmic backfire? _Crucio_ was less humiliating. 

“Lilith, ask the headmistress to come to me when she has free time.”

“Yes, of course, I'll tell her now!” the girl jumps to her feet and almost runs to the door.

“Bed rest!” reminds Poppy from the hall, and Snape takes a deep breath.

He has time to eat and read the Prophet before Minerva honors him with her presence.

“You gave us a scare, Severus. One of our assistants came running in a panic that she had seen you dying.”

“Quite a faint-hearted witch prone to exaggeration. I cannot imagine what such impressionable individuals are doing in a place where just a few months ago there was a real massacre,” says Snape.

“Nevertheless, word travels fast. Kingsley is already aware that you have returned to Hogwarts. They are going to organize a reception and a ceremony to award you with an Order of Merlin. Poppy had to fight for your five-day recovery.” Minerva looks carefully at his expression, then adds, “You can’t refuse.”

He really can’t. He can’t do anything at the moment. He can only go with the flow in hopes that he will not be washed up on the rocks around the bend. He anticipates being torn to pieces with gloomy satisfaction. 

The third visitor of his is Potter. Severus hears his quiet conversation with Pomfrey, rolls his eyes, muttering unprintable things about stubborn idiots, and pretends to be asleep. The door opens, and Potter stops at the threshold, confused. Thank Merlin, he does not seek to reveal his thoughts to the former professor’s unconscious body in a way that he wouldn’t dare to do face to face, he just shifts on the spot for a few moments, then leaves quietly, probably on his toes.

Severus exhales in relief.

He learns Potter’s approximate daily routine from Lilith, and schedules therapeutic nap breaks for the time when the Hero can be free from construction duties. Miss Bennett has probably made up a story that the very look of Potter’s face reminds Severus of his heart’s loss, and she zealously hinders the boy’s attempts to establish contact. Just lovely.

On the fourth day of forced idleness, Severus feels fat, well-rested and relatively healthy. His trips to the restroom are no longer accompanied by pain in his whole body, and his throat does not ache. A traitorous thought remains in his head that he should have sought help earlier, but it only twists the knife in the remains of his pride. He tries not to think about past events. He is almost calm, surrounded by the magical atmosphere and familiar people. Perhaps this is exactly what Severus was missing all this time.

Lilith says, “Harry Potter was too persistent! I just couldn’t stand it and told him that if a person constantly found excuses, then perhaps it was just the time to get the hint. He looked at me like I was insane! I really tried to explain that you, sir, had already lost too much in that war, and you deserved a choice to be left alone, especially by Her son.”

She dangles her feet, sitting on a chair next to his bed, talking about the restoration of Hogwarts and again about Potter. 

“Harry is now working with artifactologists, there are problems with the protective circuit. They can’t do something there, but he asked the Bulgarian association to join, so soon everything will be even better than before.”

Lilith mentions Potter almost constantly, and Severus begins to think that perhaps she has tender feelings for him. The girl is undoubtedly better than Ginevra. She is smarter, more restrained, feminine. The Weasley who grew up with six elder brothers has nothing on pureblood Bennett.

“We are glad that you are with us again, sir,” Lilith admits.

This, of course, is complete nonsense, but Snape does not speak his mind. He only says, “Someone has to make sure that you won’t level the school completely. I remember some students did make attempts at such a task.”

Lilith smiles as if sincerely glad that he had returned to the wizarding world, further proving his personal belief that the younger generation was not of sound mind.

In the evening of the fifth day, Poppy examines him, strictly forbids drinking any potions, and releases him with a promise to check in every week. Severus goes out into the dark street, looking around carefully. He needs to stay; he feels better here. Hogwarts has always been his home, and a mere look at the stone walls heals him. Of course, it will not be easy with aggressive former students, but he is used to hatred. It surrounds Severus with a black cocoon like his robe. It helped him survive - trained his vigilance and reflexes. 

One week of bed rest at Hogwarts has given Severus more than all his potions combined, and a sense of being needed envelopes him. After all, there is Poppy and there’s Filius - even if their friendship no longer exists - and that’s enough to feel attached to the ruined walls of the school.

Snape presses the portkey keychain and the moment he takes a breath of London air the heavy feeling in his chest returns. The gloomy alleys whisper about death, as does the cold greeting of his squalid apartment. The windows are still open, Severus having completely forgot about them. He needs one evening to pack his things, and he will leave this place. If he is cursed at Hogwarts, Pomfrey - and perhaps Flitwick - will help, and if it’s impossible to save him, Severus will die surrounded by good wizards. This thought is oddly calming.

Autumn made its way into the living room, and Snape doesn’t take off his coat when he’s inside. He carefully arranges the ingredients and potions, casts the Shrinking charm, and magic runs through his veins freely, as in his youth. He goes to the table and throws off his mug, then waves his wand, “Reparo! Wingardium Leviosa." Magic obeys without any discomfort, and a bubble of contentment fills his chest. He’ll return now. He won’t wait for the morning.

Severus hides the chest in an enchanted pocket of his coat, slams the door close, and practically flies down the stairs, feeling the smooth bending of his knee joint and blissful absence of pain. He’ll have to thank Poppy properly, as the usual Joint-Regenerating and Anti-Inflammatory potions didn’t work when he tried them.

Street lamps are lit, the nearby bookstore is already closed, and the sex-shop sign still beckons with its shamelessness. He is looking at it captivated, reflecting on gigantic phalluses and clean-shaven scrotums, when he hears a quiet cough, and twitches in surprise.

"Umbridge," involuntarily pops up in Snape’s head.

“Godfrey Baker,” a man introduces himself, smiling openly.

Severus remembers him, as he remembers all lost opportunities in his life; this is that brown-haired man from the sex-shop, who offered to share his thoughts on pornography.

“We met at—” Godfrey nods toward the raunchy sign, “the shop. You seem very thoughtful. Planning how to spend a free evening?”

Snape looks into the light brown eyes of the man and reads his superficial thoughts with ease: a definite intimate desire, no echoes of aggression. Second chances are rare in his life, and he frantically considers how to keep the interest of the muggle. Severus is well-read enough to understand that some kind of erotic signal is expected from him, so he carefully says,

“Indeed, it’s hard to really unwind in London. I’m thinking about it.”

Severus speaks in a low voice, staring intently to catch a reaction. The man smiles, looks around and openly offers, “I’ve got a rather extensive videotape collection at my place. Would you like to have a look?”

Oh, Merlin. If Severus hadn't delved into the muggle’s head, he would have easily missed this veiled hint, but Godfrey thinks so loudly that the invitation cannot be misunderstood. Is it really that easy just to walk up and make an offer to a man? Isn't the muggle afraid to be rejected, to face homophobic disgust, or find a person with sadistic inclination? No, Godfrey isn’t thinking about the possible consequences, only joyful excitement, and a fleeting fantasy about Severus's look when he comes. Snape is not sure he is even capable of such an expression.

If everything is that simple, then he’s been a fool all his life, suppressing his inappropriate desires, trying to ignore the completely normal part of life of any mature man, instead of just enjoying every minute easily and sensually. He says,

“Yes, that would be interesting. My name is Severus,” and he shakes the outstretched hand.

The man leads him toward the park, talking about the weather and the bloody conservatives, and Snape feels surprisingly comfortable, politely agreeing in the right places. He is afraid of doing something wrong or not doing something important - he wants to get into the muggle's head in order to meet all his expectations and not disappoint.

“Here is my place. Please come in, Severus.”

Godfrey’s apartment is small and poorly furnished, and the man wastes no time. He hands Snape a glass of whiskey and leads him to the shelves.

“It's a rather strange hobby for a thirty-year-old man, I understand,” chuckles the man, tracing his hands over several shelves filled with obscene video tapes and unmoving pictures of naked men on the covers, “but sometimes this is the only way to relieve stress if there is no suitable partner.”

Godfrey runs his fingers along the top row of his collection, as if admiring and waiting for a reaction, but Severus, unable to establish eye contact, does not fully understand how to proceed. Is it the time to get closer?

“I want to watch something of your taste,” he finally answers.

The muggle raises his eyebrows in surprise, as if he had not expected this reply, but he obediently reaches for one of the top video cassettes, inserts it into the player, and turns the TV on.  
“Sit down on the sofa, make yourself comfortable,” he says, then shows the tape box. “Beautifully shot, very artistic. Just right for the mood.”

Godfrey gives him an open smile, turns off the lights and sits very close, so close that his thigh snuggles firmly against Snape's leg. An intimate proximity of a man is a pleasure Severus hasn’t known, and he relishes every moment, barely breathing. A narrator begins to talk about the perfection of the male body, even so he feels the body next to him, the rigid muscles and strength, and still he does not fully believe what is happening.

On the screen, the twenty-something young men lie down on a table, kissing each other hungrily, and Severus stops breathing. He had never seen such a thing in his life; pictures did not show movement and passion, and the hairs on his neck stand on end. When Godfrey's hand falls on his knee, Snape abruptly draws air into his lungs, almost suffocating. It's too sudden, too fast. The pulse beats in his neck like a furious enchanted bludger, the one that broke Potter's bones in the boy’s second year.

He’s unused to this. Severus can withstand Crucio, but sensual pleasures are alien to him. He has no defenses against them. Paranoia returns three-fold; he met Godfrey half an hour ago, and an experienced master of occlumency is able to show false emotions.

However, if he doesn’t bring himself to something now, he may never get a chance to touch a mature, strong male body again. The choice is painful, but Severus shouldn’t be afraid to live after he almost died, so he turns around and awkwardly, almost chastely, kisses the muggle on the lips.

There’s no Avada, but it feels fatal when Godfrey opens his mouth and draws Severus closer with a quiet sigh. His arms are big, knocking out the air from Snape’s lungs with ardor. Snape allows himself to be led, repeats movements, explores another's mouth and body, like a new potion phenomenon, with care and delight.

Godfrey pulls his own shirt over his head and throws it back on the sofa, then reaches for the high collar of Severus's button-down, but Snape frantically grabs his wrists and whispers,

“Leave it.”

The man freezes, and Severus curses himself that he has ruined the moment, but he physically cannot stand being undressed. He is paralyzed by the thought of showing himself to someone, and Snape makes a desperate attempt to distract Godfrey, unbuttoning the man’s fly and touching his semi-erect cock. The maneuver works, and the muggle surrenders to his mercy, leaning back on the sofa.

Severus desires him, he wants his cock so much that he is choking on saliva, but he prevents any attempts to touch himself in response with a tight grip on his wrists. This is a genuine sensual pleasure to see and feel how the owner of such strength and perseverance bends under his hands, breathes hard and moves his hips to grind faster into his caressing palm. Compared to him, Snape is worthless, abnormal, and his proximity discredits the unspoiled muggle, who, most likely, has never seen real violence and inhuman cruelty in his life.

Severus doesn’t want Godfrey to regret this evening, so he makes an effort, carefully squeezing the testicles, caressing his torso, never ceasing to stroke his flushed cock. He wants to take it in his mouth, but he is afraid to choke, so he just drags his lips to Godfrey’s lower abdomen, kisses it fervently, and inhales the smell of an aroused man.

“I'm going to come,” Godfrey breathes out; his eyes closed, his sperm spilling out onto Snape's palm.

On the TV screen there are two passionate athletes swallowing each other’s cocks deep down their throats. Severus can’t even look at them.

“I need to go,” he says hoarsely, grabbing his coat and almost running out the door.

Male seed is cooling on the skin of his hand. This is hopeless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to amazing Absinthe for the real-life editing magic. ♥♥♥
> 
> By the way, if you're into BL dramas, let's be friends on [tumblr](https://gradienta.tumblr.com)!


	7. Chapter 7

Cold air is blowing through his Hogsmeade chambers undeterred by the Sealing spell. The housing is no different from his London flat – the rooms are gloomy and poorly furnished, only smaller in size. There is a bedroom without windows, a study with an ancient-looking sofa, a half-empty laboratory, and a tiny bathroom; all of it makes Severus feel like a house elf.

Snape enlarges his chest in the laboratory and takes out those meager remnants of ingredients and potions that he managed to save from Hogwarts before the Battle. His former stocks are destroyed - buried beneath the surface of the Great Lake along with the Slytherin dungeons. A single shelf filled with bottles remains pitifully among several empty racks. How many valuable finds and rare specimens will never be turned into healing and protective potions - won’t save lives? All this potential gone to waste.

Severus turns away from the shelf, stares at his new workplace, then takes out a couple of cauldrons, a ladle, knives, and scales. There is a window in the laboratory, providing much needed ventilation, but there really isn’t enough free space to feel comfortable. Snape freezes over the open chest, his thoughts wandering from the new Slytherin wing to expensive ingredients in Diagon Alley before returning to the muggle named Godfrey.

He is unsure what to do with the new experience - the warmth of someone else's skin is still tingling on his palms – a lasting illusion of intimacy. Furious masturbation in the bathroom hasn’t brought a long-awaited release, and the unrealized desire will soon drive Severus up the wall. He hesitates, but nevertheless takes the heavy cup of the pensive from the chest carefully and brings his wand to his temple.

This memory is bright and fresh, filled with tension, taste, smell, but Snape turns away from the kissing couple on the sofa, unable to look at himself, and shifts his attention to the TV. Now, when his eyes are completely focused on the screen, he sees all the nuances of movements - gleaming sweat on the tanned skin of naked men, shiny saliva on their tongues, greedy kisses. Severus hasn’t blushed since his adolescence, but he feels the heat of the blood rushing to his face and a suffocating lump in his chest. Thank Merlin that no one sees him. He looks revolting at such moments; on his pale skin, the blush acquires a bright, almost piggy hue.

Snape was sure that after so many years in the ranks of the Death Eaters it would be impossible to embarrass him - but no, the shame from the thought that he dares to spy on someone else's intimate acts is practically paralyzing. When one young man slowly takes a hard cock into his throat and rests his nose on neatly trimmed pubic hair, Severus makes a low desperate moan, unable to stop this visual torture. Then, in Godfrey’s apartment, everything felt different, but here, in the closed solitude of the laboratory, there is no one to disappoint. He is alone with his unnatural desires.

Severus strokes his cock with his palm, trying to reach the peak quickly, as he used to do in the past, but the excitement does not increase, instead feeling more painful the harder he presses. The TV screen shows young men gasping in ecstasy. Right behind him Godfrey whispers, “I'm going to come,” and Severus emerges from the memory, grabs a dark vial of some tincture from the shelf and throws the potion at the wall in desperation. His hands tremble from a feral desire which cannot find a way out, and it drives him truly mad. He needs it, he has to come, but he can’t. 

The former Potions professor comes to his senses only after a long ice-cold shower, then goes to the bedroom and falls asleep instantly, forgetting his Order of Merlin reception completely.

Headmistress McGonagall carefully knocks on his door the following morning. Snape looks grudgingly at her sympathetic face, not fully awake yet.

“Severus, how are you?” she asks gently. “I understand, you needed time after… everything.”

Snape grows cold inside. Minerva can’t be aware of his intimate encounter with the muggle. She’s not proficient at legilimency and she’s hardly the one to spy.

“Minister Kingsley is going to return today to thank you in person. Yesterday it was Harry who accepted the Order for you. He had such a beautiful and touching speech that some reporters teared up.”

Potter! What kind of half-witted nonsense did he make up this time? Severus hardly has any reputation to ruin after Potter’s “help”, and the brat wouldn’t stop trying. For Merlin’s sake, Snape himself is a bigger idiot who succumbed to the temptations of sodomy, and then slept through the second most important event in his life, the first being earning his Potions Mastery. It would be funny if it weren’t so pathetic. It would have been worth it if he had got to come. 

However, why had nobody dragged him to the bloody celebration by force? Snape remembers that Kingsley is not the one to accept refusals, just like McGonagall herself.

“When you didn’t come on time, we asked a house elf to hurry you up, but it came back and said you were sleeping,” the headmistress continues. “Poppy, of course, was indignant and almost yanked our Minister by the ears, because he dared to bother you while you haven’t fully recovered yet. Lilith Bennett supported her quite loudly, then Harry joined in, and together they defended your rest and turned the attention of the reporters to themselves. Truth to be told, I believe that the wizarding world should know its heroes. A couple of photographs with an Order of Merlin in newspapers wouldn’t hurt you.”

Potter, Potter, bloody Potter is everywhere! However, Severus is glad to have a reprieve from the reporters. Skeeter is still in business, after all. Recently, her articles in the Prophet have become more loyal to Harry-Bless-His-Mother-Potter, and instinct tells Snape that it’s not at all about her dramatically changed worldview. The ubiquitous Potter must have managed to negotiate with her. But how?

“You have always been ambitious. We should have woken you up,” says McGonagall. Now, having taken off her glasses, she looks tired and deceptively soft. 

“They can take some photographs today.” Severus replies reluctantly, and the headmistress nods before leaving.

Today, Severus is going to dress up. He’ll rub it into Potter’s stupid face and give him a piece of his mind. Snape does not have a formal robe, but he has a portkey to London. With advance payment, Madam Malkin will surely find something impressive and dignified for him. Snape, for Merlin’s sake, spent so many years in the service of two masters, he deserves respect!

He deserves to be given spacious rooms. He is worthy of a good orgasm, and not this frantic maddening tension inside. He has done so much that the smallest thing – to caress and be caressed in response – must be granted. What has he done to his own life?

Severus puts on his muggle clothes, has a breakfast of porridge, despite frightening a house elf so badly they nearly dropped his bowl, then he presses the plastic keychain. 

Diagon Alley is still colorful and crowded, but now all the passers-by turn their heads to watch him. Snape curls his lips viciously, and the wizards don’t dare to come closer. He gets to Madam Malkin’s, pushes the door open, and seals it behind him with a spell.

“Professor Snape!” gasps the owner and doesn’t comment on the sealing sign glimmering above the entrance. “Do you need a formal robe?”

“The best one,” Severus answers briefly. He feels tired after the active use of magic, but frustration, turning into a quiet rage, keeps him on his feet.

The witch routinely takes his measurements and waves her wand to summon robes.

“Green will suit you,” she begins, but is immediately interrupted by Severus’s refusal. “Then the dark gray with a silver rim,” Madam Malkin catches his glare and declares, “Anything but black! You are young, you’re not even eighty! Stop wearing mourning clothes - you buried her a long time ago. Lily Potter was an amazing woman, but not the only woman! You have been tormenting yourself for so many years!”

Severus grinds his teeth and says,

“Gray will do.”

The witch cheers up, and even offers a substantial discount, inviting him to come by later and upgrade his entire wardrobe. Severus removes the protective seal sourly, and activates the portkey to Hogsmeade without leaving the shop.

For Merlin’s sake, it only takes Harry Potter to make him a laughing stock for the whole wizarding world. How can the brat imagine him to devote his life to a woman with whom Severus has never been close romantically? A dead woman! Today, Snape is going to tell this idiot.

Having reached his rooms, Severus rushes to the bathroom and washes his hair, then combs it back. The wrinkles on the bridge of his nose are especially visible like this, and he cannot relax the muscles of his face, frustration boiling inside.

Snape has no idea when Kingsley will arrive at Hogwarts, so he takes his time to go through all the ingredients in his laboratory and list the ones to be purchased first. When a house elf appears in front of him and asks him to go to the headmistress, he’s never been more ready. He puts on his new robe, straightens his shoulders, and walks along the road to school like a king, feeling every squeamish glance cast at his scarred throat.

Kingsley doesn’t look well. Severus sees the traces of at least a couple of permanent curses on him, and the burning ball of indignation deflates in Snape’s chest. They observe each other, noting scars, burns on their hands, and the Minister says,

“It’s good that you helped Harry and survived.”

What else can be said? Kingsley has always been at the forefront, one cannot accuse him of inaction and hypocrisy.

“It was your job,” Severus answers.

“There were and always will be partisans in any war,” the Minister shakes his head. “You would never be able to stay away.”

True, but Severus would never have gone into Voldemort’s inner circle if he had had a choice. Dumbledore didn’t believe in free will, just as he didn’t believe in regret and tea with no sugar. Now, looking at Kingsley, Snape realizes that he won’t be able to unleash all his frustration and tension on him, and it feels like a pain behind his sternum.

A young reporter, intimidated by the minister, takes a couple of photos of Snape’s annoyed face, and disappears behind the door.

“Harry has your Order of Merlin. He is dealing with artifactologists from Bulgaria and will be here soon. He wanted to talk to you,” says Kingsley.

“Obnoxious Gryffindor,” Snape hisses. “I’ll meet him in the evening, and we’ll discuss everything that our Hero wants.” For instance, the inexplicable nonsense that Potter is making up to reporters. Kingsley smirks and shakes his hand tightly, returning to the chair next to Minerva's desk. Snape leaves, feeling stupid to be so dressed up for a ten minute meeting.

He will take his award from Potter, knock some sense into the snot’s head, and order a full-length portrait in a new robe to look worthy among the former Hogwarts headmasters after his death.

Severus heads to the construction site at his usual brisk pace, and the folds of his expensive robe flutter like in the good old days when students called him the bat of the dungeons. He runs into a man coming round the corner like a ship hitting an iceberg, loses his balance, and almost smashes his nose on the stone floor, but dexterous hands grab him by the shoulders and across the abdomen, preventing a quick return to Poppy.

The arms hold him firmly, securely and carefully, and Severus's body reacts, starved for affection. Snape feels someone else's sweat - the smell of a healthy male body, and the feeling of a hard chest pressing against his side, along with hot breath on his neck makes him moan hoarsely. 

“Professor, are you okay?” a voice asks in concern, and all dignity that is left in Severus’s entire body is barely enough to keep from barking, “Undress, and I will be!” right here, in an empty corridor.

The former professor regains his balance, straightens up, and his fleeting desperate fantasy, fueled by loneliness and sexual frustration, is broken by Potter’s ugly round glasses. Bloody Merlin, when did the imbecile manage to grow up?

Severus recalls the last time he saw Potter, but bleeding out on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, he certainly wouldn’t have noticed the broad shoulders and sharp line of his chin, his thick neck. Did the brat look the same in the Forest of Dean? Absolutely not, he was skinny to the point of starvation, miserable and exhausted. All of the photographs the Prophet was printing did not reflect a fraction of how much Potter fattened up after the war.

His barely awakened libido doesn’t care what the boy looked like before, and Snape shivers from the mere glance at his neckline. Only this morning he could not take his eyes away from the naked male bodies in his memories, and yesterday he did even more.

At twenty, he drank the Impotence potion to drown the attraction to his students. Merlin help him, did he even know at least one peer who did not shy away from his company in the post-war period? He was a lonely young professor living in a boarding school, and he did not have the courage to turn to muggles then. Now he is back at Hogwarts, surrounded by youths, and this time everything will be different.

Potter looks at him with suspicion, Snape barks, “Stay out of the way!” and runs, feeling the Hero’s dumbfounded gaze with his whole back and crotch.

It’s easy to find the nearest restroom. Severus casts locking spells, opens the robe and lowers his trousers to his knees. His cock is hard and wet, and he spreads pre-come over the head, then shifts the foreskin several times, making low, languid groans and shuddering.

Severus imagines Godfrey grabbing him in the same way Potter did, with confidence and almost affectionately, the man pressing close behind him and rubbing his cock against Snape’s arse. Severus squeezes his palm and comes so hard that he nearly blacks out.

A mirror reflects his ugly bright blush, but he doesn’t care at all. He’s relieved and happy, his limbs feel shaky and cotton-like. Severus can achieve orgasm, and he definitely is not going to repeat the same mistake; he will not put off carnal pleasures for later. He will rest, breathe fresh air, ask house elves to cook delicacies, and no one will dare to ask another sacrifice from him. No, Snape has been awarded the Order of Merlin. He is a hero of the wizarding world, and he demands to be left alone.

He will take his award from Potter tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absinthe was once again the magical beta-reader. ♥♥♥


	8. Chapter 8

Severus spends the evening in a benevolent mood; he returns to London, purchases some ingredients in one inconspicuous shop in Diagon Alley, and orders two more robes at Madam Malkin’s. The witch stubbornly refuses to sell him black clothes, and Snape has to admit that it is time to stop drowning himself with gloomy colors. It seems that Severus’s libido can go out at any moment, and to prevent this he is going to surround himself with peace, and try to relax his body and soul. If his beloved practical black color is associated with resting, then only with a posthumous one.

On the way to his rooms, Severus is caught up by breathless Lilith, who can barely keep pace with his steps. She hands him plans for a new Slytherin wing and says that McGonagall is waiting for him at her office.

“I'm busy. The headmistress and I will discuss all the issues tomorrow,” dismisses Snape, and locks himself in his chambers to casually throw the scrolls on the table, forget about them, and spend a good hour having a long and most satisfying masturbation.

Severus’s acute reaction to an almost embrace seems ridiculous now, especially after all the things he saw in the sex shop – the lashes, chains, and giant artificial phalluses. Nevertheless, when Severus imagines strong arms carefully embracing his torso, a sultry wave of excitement overwhelms him.

His erection does not fail, but the thought of a prostate massage is still on his mind. Snape wonders if sensations would have been different had the pain from the inflamed gland been bearable. Muggles do it for pleasure, and he longs for pleasure too. He wants it every second he doesn’t spend on self-gratification. Severus sighs and promises himself to experiment soon.

In the morning, he puts on a new dark blue robe and, hoping to deal with Potter and get down to business as quickly as possible, finds the boy at the construction site. The National Hero looks a bit bloated and shabby, there is almost no reminiscence of the little idiot he was at school, but Severus isn’t fooled - the idiot is still inside and waiting for the right time.

Potter stretches out as soon as he sees his former professor, and, exhaling nervously, calls,

“Professor Snape...”

The Savior has the talent to infuriate him with just a few words. Snape doesn’t know what exactly it is that gets to him every single time, but an insult escapes his mouth by itself,

“Potter, are you daft?”

Potter frowns, making a familiar stubborn expression, and Severus grabs his strong shoulder, and drag him into an empty tent, fearing that at any minute the idiot would start blabbering about horcruxes directly into the ears of Hogwarts' helpers.

“Good morning to you, too,” Potter growls hoarsely and goes after him like an obedient dog. “What’s not to your tastes this time? I am just like my father, I am a Gryffindor, now I’m daft?! What’s next?” His expression turns somewhat apologetic as he realizes he has begun to yell at his professor. “Gosh. That’s not what I… Listen, Snape, I understand it now, why don’t you calm do-”

Many wizards are alive only because Severus did not calm down. He tried - looked for chances - for a year and a half there was no calm in his life when he was seeking any opportunity to save the boy, but Potter has always been blind.

Snape locks the entrance into the tent with a spell, turns around and hisses,

“What’s next? I’m asking you the same question. You disregarded school rules and safety precautions, put your life and the lives of your fellow students at unjustified risks, then you ran away with your friends, rendering any attempt to help you impossible, and now you’ve decided to ruin the reputation of your former Potions professor who you swear you are grateful to. What nonsense are you feeding to reporters?”

“I’m telling them the truth,” Potter answers and purses his lips in displeasure. “Everyone had to know you were on our side, otherwise we would never have pulled you out of Azkaban! No evidence of Dumbledore would have saved you from a trial. Kingsley advised us to start with public opinion, Hermione and I wrote the texts, McGonagall approved them, and it worked. You are now a hero of magical Britain. I have long wanted to thank...”

“The truth?” interrupts Snape. “The truth about my feelings for your mother? Only such an impenetrable mutt like yourself could confuse friendship with romantic love.”

Potter looks at him blankly and tries to object,

“I saw you...”

“I'm a homosexual. What kind of eternal love for Lily Evans are you talking about?”

Snape knows from experience that Potter prefers keeping the ugly truth to himself, as he didn’t tell his fellow students about what he saw in his memories in the fifth year. The obstinate snot, having heard such a confession, blinks incredulously,

“But I didn’t see any men in your memories!”

“You didn’t see any attraction to your mother, but you made it up nevertheless,” Snape cuts off.

Potter looks bewildered and even a little ashamed, he says,

“I… I’m not sure that the public will accept it well if I retract it. I am sorry, but we needed to act quickly, and it was impossible to get in contact with you.”

“Maybe because at that time I was dying of Nagini’s poison and blood loss.”

Potter looks away, and Severus feels something like pity, the whole conversation resembling infant abuse. He admits that perhaps the National Savior pursued the most noble and Gryffindor goals, but Snape doesn’t have to be pleased with the outcome of this scam.

“Where is my Order of Merlin?” he asks finally.

Potter reaches into a back pocket of his muggle jeans and pulls out a small crystal box. He went around carrying Snape’s biggest and most significant award in his work pants. Severus is speechless.

“You have done a lot for me, and I’m really trying to make your life better. After all your sacrifices...” Potter begins, but Severus doesn’t allow him to finish.

“My life would be better without you in it, Mr. Potter.”

The Hero pauses, then says, “If you need me, I’m at the construction site,” in such a tone that one would assume the boy is doing his best not to start crying. He shoves the box into Severus’s hands, removes the locking spell, and leaves the tent.

The boy has grown up and managed to control himself. Just two years ago, he would have raised his voice, hysterically accusing his former professor of only Merlin knows what, but now he keeps everything in check. Severus is almost tempted to try and wind Potter up till he screams and spits insults, but it is better to spend his time doing something more pleasant.

He admires his award. Energy waves emanate from the Order, and if Severus were a pureblood, he would be able to add the artifact’s magic to his manor’s wards, but, alas, for him it can be nothing but a trinket with a symbolic meaning. He hides the box in the inner pocket of the robe, leaves the tent and goes to his rooms – he still has to look at the draft of the new Slytherin wing.

The peace comes to an end the very next day when an owl delivers the Prophet with a screaming headline on the cover, “LOSS FOR WITCHES – SEVERUS SNAPE FANCIES WIZARDS?” His cold hands open the newspaper and he reads, “For Severus Snape, a famous spy, potioneer and ex-headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, no witch can compare to Lily Evans, this is exactly what can be called an undying love. He has buried all possible feelings for women, and for so many years the war hero has been living as a monk. Does it mean that Severus Snape is doomed to loneliness? According to our trusted source, the world-famous potioneer is trying to find solace among male wizards.” Severus closes the newspaper and takes a few deep breaths. He will kill Potter. He will shake the soul out of the little devil who took after his dishonorable father, the same narrow-minded and vain bastard.

A house elf appears in his tiny study with a loud pop and it squeaks in a trembling voice,

“Professor Snape, sir, Harry Potter says he has nothing to do with the article in the newspaper.”

“Why wouldn’t your Harry Potter,” Severus snarls, “tell me this in person?”

“Harry Potter is smart, sir, Harry Potter asked a house elf to convey the message!”

The creature manages to disappear right before an ink bottle explodes from the pressure of magic. Severus cleans everything with a spell and tries to pull himself together. Potter is a Gryffindor, he wouldn’t be vindictive because of a couple harsh words. But if not Potter, then who?

If Potter is not to blame, then there is a spy at the Hogwarts building site. The thought makes his hands grow cold, and Severus shrinks, trying to get rid of the fear settled in his stomach. It could be a curious witch, eager for gossip and profit. It could be a sneaky reporter, or ill-wishers who want to destroy his reputation and put him in Azkaban where he belongs.

Severus gets up, drags himself to his bedroom and takes out an open bottle of fire-whiskey from his chest. If his throat hadn’t been torn by a huge rabid snake, he would have finished it earlier. Now the scars don’t hurt, the red-eyed maniac does not summon him for torture, juvenile jerks don’t run the risk of blowing up cauldrons at any second, and he has a chance to drink with impunity in the middle of a working day. Severus doesn’t bother searching for a glass - he drinks directly from the bottle.

The magical world does not favor homosexuals, so the article will backfire. He may lose the support of ordinary wizards and witches, and then his work as an exemplary Slytherin for newspaper headlines would amount to nothing. The announcement of his weakness can cast a shadow over his already battered faculty and all of his serpents.

Somebody knocks at his chambers, and the lively drumming march he hears is spiked with the flavored flames of fire-whiskey.

“Professor Snape! Professor Snape, I didn't say anything to Skeeter!”

Severus ignores the persistent knocks and drinks on. If the Potters are involved, everything ends badly. Damn the Potters. He mustn’t even think about them, see them, breathe the same air, or they would destroy everything he values.

“Professor Snape, I know how Skeeter got the information!”

Severus blinks slowly, takes a couple of deep breaths, sets the bottle aside and stands up to open the door. Potter squeezes into his life brazenly, pushing him aside with his broad shoulders, and then blurts out,

“Rita Skiter is an unregistered animagus.”

The former professor of potions looks at the insolent idiot, trying to put _Avada_ and _Kedavra_ together in his mouth, when Potter continues,

“We have been blackmailing her since our fourth year, Hermione forced her to make the Unbreakable vow that she wouldn’t write about us or our acquaintances in a bad light.”

“This,” Snape emerges from the stupor, “you think it puts me in a good light?”

“This is a story about tragic love, the wizarding world sympathizes with you!”

“I don't need pity!” Snape shouts, and the air in the rooms cracks softly. At the moment, he hates Potter more than he ever hated his father and godfather combined. “I need you and your gang to stop interfering with my life and dragging my reputation through the mud! I was a spy, a headmaster, and I am an internationally recognized potioneer, yet you have made me a laughing stock! A character in a cheap dime novel!”

Potter tries to justify himself, but Snape doesn’t let him speak,

“I have never been romantically interested in your mother, Potter! She was pretty, but certainly not enough to break hearts right and left. She was smart, but had no exquisite manners. She was a good friend, but as a woman Lily did not stand out from the others,” Snape spits out the words, as if knowing that he will hurt the Potter snot more, and watches his hurt expression with vengeful pleasure. “Narcissa Black was stunning, Bella looked staggering, but Lily Evans? She wasn’t even close. And I couldn’t be interested in any of them.”

Here, Potter must lose his temper because he’s compared his mother with the mad Lestrange, but the Gryffindor freezes, then shifts from foot to foot uneasily and says,

“I think I might be gay, too.”

Damn everything, Severus never signed up for this.

“Get out,” he says through gritted teeth. “And if I see another of Skeeter’s articles about my “tragic love” in a newspaper, I’ll tell the reporters that their lovely Boy-Who-Lived has chosen men over Ginevra Weasley. And I sure won’t go to Skeeter.”

Potter opens his mouth like a fish thrown ashore, but finds no words, so he turns around and goes out the door silently. When Snape’s anger recedes, he continues drinking, then laughs so hard that he chokes.

This is astonishing. Well, a little copy of Molly is able to destroy any traditional desires in a male! And indeed, the idiot confused friendship with romantic love. He did the same watching Snape’s memories. Potter thinks he could be gay, and this answers all questions about the break-up with She-Weasley and lack of other girls on his arm. Why would Potter tell him this? Did he want sympathy or did he want to show that he understood everything? For Merlin’s sake, what nonsense.

Severus chuckles and takes another sip. Potter thinks he’s gay - a scandal of the century. The idiotic snot will be successful even with wizards. He is young, well-built. He has a fortune, connections, a reputation and charisma - all that Severus is deprived of. And surely Potter is sexually experienced - no one in their right mind would refuse the Savior.

Snape feels a twinge of envy, but he knows that even if some wizard suggested they get to know each other better, paranoia would eat Severus alive. No, muggles and the company of his own hand are much safer. A couple more sips, and the former professor gives up, unfastens his trousers, and wraps his palm around his cock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amazing Absinthe helped to edit my mistakes away ♥♥♥


	9. Chapter 9

Having so many urgent matters to discuss after the war, all the wizarding world talks about right now is the sexual orientation of a former Death Eater and holder of a second degree Order of Merlin Severus Snape. Minerva does not comment on what is happening and staunchly sends reporters away from Hogwarts when they come. Snape drinks a bottle of fire-whiskey in small sips, like a healing potion, and irritably scribbles on a scroll with the layout of the new Slytherin wing.

Newspapers go wild when they get a decisive refusal to interview Snape, instead reaching out to the members of the Order of the Phoenix, then to his former students. Snape's owl glances at its owner reproachfully and throws _The Sunday Prophet_ on the floor.

Severus reads, “DEATH EATERS AND HOMOSEXUALITY - How He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Recruited Supporters,” and the newspaper is burnt in rage. Lilith gives him her copy of _Witch Weekly_ that devotes another editorial “British Witches Keep Trying to Win Severus Snape’s Heart” and this magazine burns as brightly as the newspaper. _Wizarding World News_ interviewed several hundred-and-fifty-year-old witches and wizards who urged Snape to abstinence, claiming that this was the only way to cleanse his aura of sin.

Severus has gone from one hell to another,knowing as he does that the persecution will soon begin.. He shouldn't have returned; the safe swamp of the muggle world is better than the contempt and hatred of wizards. 

When Lilith goes to his chambers, he shoves the scrolls into her arms and shuts the door in her face, sealing the rooms with protective charms. What is worse - being targeted for the Dark Mark or for homosexual inclinations? The Order of Merlin will not restore Snape’s reputation. Damn everything. He might as well return the advance payment to Minerva and go back to London, where he would be able to make potions using a pseudonym to make ends meet.

Severus walks into his laboratory, looks around the half-empty shelves, sighs and opens the chest. He places the cauldron and scoops in a corner, his fingers trembling as he carefully puts the bottles with ingredients and potions inside, layering softening spells to prevent any damage. 

Nothing has changed after the war. It wasn’t worth it to dream about returning to the wizarding world. Severus cannot even blame Skeeter or Potter; whether it is the vile core of his or the Princes’s curse, the dark aura or cruel fate - Snape never had any chance, and now he’s lost hope.

He threatened to tell reporters about Potter’s homosexual doubts in the heat of the moment, but now such words seem vile, like a violent flash of old Tobias he takes after. Moreover, if Severus dares to do such a thing, he’ll be torn to shreds; everything will look like an attempt to denigrate the image of The-Boy-Who-Lived. He didn’t really plan to reveal the Savior’s secrets, but he’d better be closer to reality when he makes threats. Potter didn’t even take him seriously, he just turned around and left, slamming the door right in front of his miserably drunk ex-professor.

What if someone heard Potter's revelations? They can blackmail him or drown him in political games. Getting rid of war heroes would be very beneficial for some politicians, and Snape must tell the idiot to keep his mouth shut. Such a narrow-minded muggle worldview can destroy the boy’s life.

Anxiety and helpless anger eat Severus from the inside. It’s torture, and he slams the chest close and goes into the tiny bedroom. His strength leaves him as if pouring out from a hole in his stomach, and he drops on the bed.

When an owl flies into his room, having got inside through his laboratory window, and throws a special issue of _the Prophet_ on his head angrily, Snape doesn’t even move. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the editorial “DUMBLEDORE, PEVERELL, BLACK, SNAPE - FAMOUS HOMOSEXUALS OF OUR TIME”.

Dumbledore. Only Merlin knows, he might have been, too, but no one would have the courage to accuse Albus of anything if he were alive. The late headmaster was infallible, but Severus isn’t and now his every action will be condemned, every word will be misinterpreted.

“Snape, let me in!” is heard from behind the door, and this is Potter in all his ill-bred glory. Severus can hardly hope that the Hero has come to finish him off, but he waves his wand anyway. A metal creak of old door hinges echoes in the chambers.

“Snape?” the voice sounds closer, and a minute later the door of his bedroom opens wider. “Professor, are you okay?” Potter's tone changes immediately, becoming worried.

“Say what you must then get out,” answers Snape without even trying to move and look at the brat. 

Potter resolutely comes closer and flops on the bed so that Snape jumps on the thin mattress. The-Boy-Who-Lived reeks of alcohol so much that the famous potions master turns his head and presses his nose into the pillow squeamishly. What an abomination.

“I want to hear the truth,” Potter says finally. “In the Prophet’s special issue, there’s an article about headmaster Dumbledore...” The boy stumbles, trying to gather his thoughts. “He -”

“Was Albus a homosexual? Only Merlin knows,” Snape mutters viciously. Has Potter burst into his rooms to gossip? Inebriated Gryffindors are completely devoid of reason and self-preservation.

“It makes no difference,” Potter dismisses, and Severus cannot help but turn his head slightly to squint at him. “He lied to everyone,” the Savior finally says. “He lied by omission, misled, allowed others to fill in the blanks. He lied to you, to me, and as it turns out to McGonagall too, so that she wouldn’t intervene.”

Snape is silent and allows Potter to speak out - perhaps for the first time in his life. When it comes to Dumbledore, he cannot keep out and drive the arrogant Hero out the door, cursing his insolence into the next week as he should. He’d do it, but the hand with his wand seemed to have grown into the mattress, and a spasm closes up his throat.

“There isn’t a single truthful word in the article, everything is embellished, and some things are just omitted while they have written such rubbish about you! I believed the headmaster, continued believing after his death!” Potter’s voice breaks as if he tries to hold back sobs. “I don’t know the whole truth even now, and I have no one to talk to about it. Hermione is in Australia, Ron is… busy, and they don’t know as much as you do anyway.”

Potter hunches over and shakes soundlessly, covering his face with his palms. Snape stares at the heroic back and wants to apologize for having sent him, a schoolboy, to death. Snape wants to say that he is sorry, he is full of regrets, that he had to do more - everything possible and impossible - but he can’t make a sound. 

“I died and saw him at King's Cross,” Potter's voice sounds stifled, and Severus is glad that he is still trying to control himself. The Savior crying in his bed - this would be too much for the tired Potion Master. “He didn’t regret anything at all. When I saw his portrait in the office of headmistress McGonagall, I almost destroyed everything with an uncontrolled magical outburst.”

In the light of a single candle the outlines of Potter’s back seem like a huge, powerful rock covered with fabric. The Hero trembles, and it fuels long-buried pity in Severus.

“I did not know how to live after that. And here was Ginny, a kind supportive friend, and all the Weasleys approved...” Potter’s voice breaks.

Snape imagines the story in detail, recalling what was written in newspapers. The Savior kneels and asks Ginevra for her hand, to be with him in grief and despair for the rest of his life. Then she and her idiotic mother make Potter involved in the preparations for the wedding. Soon it dawns on Potter that he isn’t in love with the redhead, so he flips out and admits that he is not ready to breed and multiply. And he escapes to help Hogwarts to the delight of the headmistress.

Next? Ginevra makes him the villain, returns to Hogwarts, and is now looking for ways to either get her revenge or fix it. Does she know about Potter's sexual questioning?

While Potter is choking back the tears, Snape manages to crawl out of bed, get to the nightstand, and find a vial of Calming Draught. He looks at the bottle thoughtfully, but decides that some emotions must be expressed and not bottled down to result in magical exhaustion and headaches at the age when wizards reach their magical and physical peak.

Potter stops shaking in about ten minutes. He wipes his face with the sleeve of his coat, then looks around, somewhat bewildered. Severus sits on a rickety chair in the corner and watches him incredulously - observing his swollen eyes and lips, broad shoulders and large arms. Now is not the right time to stare at a former student, but he cannot help himself.

“It’s so dark and cramped here. Looks like a cupboard under the stairs,” finally says Potter. 

“Does it?” Snape replies awkwardly.

Weaslette must be especially frustrated, because Potter is not only good-looking, but also rich. The redhead thought she got a prince, but the prince slipped away because his princess was in another castle. Or his prince. Potter hardly can be trusted with understanding himself. Maybe he’s not gay at all - after Ginevra, anyone would steer clear of women.

The Savior of the wizarding world stands up, mutters an apology, and backs off to the door. High time too, given that it is not appropriate for a young man to sit on his former professor’s bed, especially when intoxicated. One can never know what the former professor might assume. Snape clears his mind of any Potter-related thoughts, returns to his bed and falls asleep, absolutely drained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments! ♥♥♥ I'm so happy to see you enjoy this story as much as I do while translating and did while writing it in Russian. 
> 
> Allmighty Absinthe has made my English look presentable. ♥♥♥


	10. Chapter 10

Severus feels it in his bones that magic is slowly but surely returning to the walls of the school. The construction site is pulling him closer, as if all his years of studying and teaching at the wizarding school have branded him from within. The magic of Hogwarts, which was nourishing and supporting him for so long, is calling for help, and the closer he gets, the harder it is to resist.

The founders did their best; the school can take care of itself many centuries after their deaths. It’s a place of power, like a sponge absorbing residual magic — how many spells have flown into Hogwarts walls over the years, how many magical outbursts have these walls had to endure from teenagers with raging hormones! Severus wonders if any of the former students have figured it out why they are so eager to drop whatever they are doing and go to Scotland to stones and dust.

The building is heated, and Snape speeds up to come closer and respond to the call. Minerva is here, too, surrounded by a blue cocoon of a cooling spell. The magic returns. It's hard to miss the red-hot walls, even Longbottom wouldn't be able to ignore it.

"We can't wait, or we won't have restored at least several floors by the new academic year," McGonagall says, worried. “If the school doesn’t open…”

"I understand," Severus nods, looking around. If the school doesn’t open, it will negatively affect public sentiments.

It’s the public that is not currently on this construction site, they are not fainting from the heat, unable to simultaneously hold the cooling spell and levitate stones. Still, it’s the same public, the hundreds or even thousands of wizards who survived, some scattered across countries and continents, some remaining in Britain. Venerable wizards whose age have long passed a hundred, and very young ones who remember Severus as the most unpleasant teacher of their lives, too — all those who have ever considered Hogwarts their home, now give their magic out drop by drop, voluntarily and gratefully, so that the school continues to exist.

The stones absorb everything, heating up and calling the alumni. The work gradually stops, and the wizards go to the open areas and watch, fascinated, as the air sparkles around the newly built walls. Everything glows and pulsates as if alive, and Severus feels like a tiny grain of sand compared to such an ancient and huge force.

"It's incredible," breathes McGonagall.

"It's magic, Minerva," Severus’s answer is full of irony. “We'll have to set up a tent camp. All the rooms at Hogsmeade are already occupied, and many more wizards will be willing come.”

Minerva agrees. “I haven’t been able to walk to the edge of Hogsmeade lately — it’s pulling me back.”

This is the most powerful magic, not based on spells or rituals and phases of the moon. How could Hogwarts be anything ordinary? For centuries young magicians fell in love here, won prizes and lost in competitions, gave the first kisses and said words of gratitude at the graduation ball. Hogwarts would still be special, even if there were no magic left in it, because magic lives in its loyal graduates, reaching for the place of power, where it ceased to subdue and began to obey.

Workers and students stand still and silent as if spellbound. It is a pity that such unity has been achieved only after the war; everyone works for the common cause, and no enmity is a barrier.

The air at the construction site is hot and dry, and Severus tugs at the collar of his robe stuck to his sweaty neck, trying to cool off a little. He is not ready to reveal his scars, although now he realizes that most of the workers have thrown off their autumn robes and are left in simple muggle T-shirts, short and exposing scars sometimes so disgusting that Snape wants to look away. He could help — scar ointments have been pretty much everything he'd been making lately, but no one has asked him for anything. Moreover, no one is ashamed. No one tries to hide, and even Bill Weasley, whose mutilated face often appears in _the Prophet_, removes his bangs from his face in photos as if to encourage one to look closer.

Youth has always been shameless and changeable: what used to be the object of gossip is currently a given or a point of pride – Look! I survived. I was not a coward. I didn’t back down then, not going to do it now.

Severus turns his head and notices Potter. He stands at a distance in a dirty, stretched T-shirt and fogged glasses, his mouth open, watching the red flares fill the rebuilt walls. All the young people look as if they see real magic for the first time: they are frozen with delight and are afraid to move, so as not to spoil the moment. Snape snorts. For Merlin’s sake, how can they be surprised, when they are able to turn on the light in one wave of their magic wands, fly on broomsticks, and be sure that dragons are real?

Potter's left shoulder is covered in a net of burns, and the miracle is that he is alive, standing aside like a muggleborn who first came to Hogwarts - so young and enthusiastic. Potter could have been the last person Severus talked to, his personal Hermes, seeing him off on his last journey, and the miracle is that Severus is alive, and Potter is alive, and they are still able to catch the Snitch, brew glory, and put a stopper in death.

The former professor turns around and goes back to his rooms. The magic pulls him, but only slightly, as if discerning the intention to return and stay as long as necessary. He knew that Dumbledore needed him when, marked by the Dark Lord, he returned to Hogwarts. Severus knew that Potter needed him, badly, from the first year, when the boy gazed at ghosts and flying ladders in wonder, and then when he was growing up, fighting on par with adult wizards. And when the boy found out that he was doomed, when Severus let him down and sent him "to meet death as an old friend." When Severus let everyone down, and children died in the last battle.

Who needs him now? Severus thinks that he should go back to brewing potions, ask Poppy what kind of problems she is facing now, after the war, and improve the recipes. He could help his former students get rid of scars and burns. He could help Potter. Snape thinks about Potter too often for a person 20 years his senior and not a blood relative.

Potter saw him disgustingly drunk, then Severus endured the alcoholic confessions of the Hero of all the wizarding world, and now, the third time, they drink together. In the evening Potter turns up at his chambers with a bottle of good firewhisky, and in the glowing silence of this day the door creaks too loudly. In such an evening Snape cannot be vindictive and harsh, and he doesn’t even feel any indignation. He just walks with his former student to his small study and transfigures two glasses.

Potter drinks and doesn't call him a mean greasy bastard or a bloody killer. Severus drinks and doesn’t say anything about Potter's father and godfather, his childhood, the relationship with the redhead, does not call him the Savior or a celebrity. He doesn't call him a killer, either.

Potter is quiet. His dusty hands grasp the bottle and fill his glass to the brim, then he steadily pulls Snape’s hand closer and fills his glass, too. His palms are warm and rough with calluses, very strong, and the former professor clearly remembers the way Potter grabbed him by the shoulder and across the chest, and how desperately Severus wanted him those few moments, till he realized who had just saved him from falling.

Potter is still silent and is sneaking looks at Snape, even as he transfigures his chair into an armchair and leans back. He is no longer an impatient and quick-tempered brat. He knows how to wait and is now clearly waiting for something, and today Severus cannot just demand, "Speak up, Potter!" He's waiting too with vague agitation.

When the second glass comes to an end, Potter straightens up and finally blurts out,

“You were such a bastard, Snape! We hated you so much!” He rubs his face with his hands. "It never occurred to anyone…”

Severus shrugs and watches Potter run fingers through his sparse evening stubble, then comb through the disheveled hair at the back of his head and continue,

“We used to think that you had stopped being a Death Eater because the Death Eater mask was too tight on your nose.”

Severus chokes on firewhisky and snorts,

"Staggering stupidity! There are expanding spells for that.”

“It was too tight, wasn’t it?" Potter tilts his head back and smiles. He has a very beautiful Adam's apple, and the profile of his neck seems fragile, like one of a teenager. Noticing and admiring someone else's beauty is simple. It’s easy not to do anything about it, to freeze inside along with the moment.

Snape likes the talkative Potter much more than the quiet one. The Savior talks about the Ministry's plans, and Severus swallows low Potter’s voice and the smell of his tired young body with the alcohol.

“Did you live in London all this time?" asks Potter.

“Sir”, says Snape, and to his surprise Potter doesn’t try to make a joke.

“Sir,” he adds obediently.

“Yes, Potter,” Severus drinks more, and his consciousness feels a bit foggy. He hopes that there will be no emergency demanding him to drink a sobering up potion, because the firewhisky warms him from the inside pleasantly — as if he took the hot stones from the construction site with him.

“Are you glad to be back?"

"Yes, Potter.

“You're thirty-seven now, aren't you?"

"Yes, Potter.

“Have you ever kissed a man?"

Another "Yes, Potter" freezes on his lips, and Severus shifts his heavy gaze from the bottle to the insolent brat.

“You're a homosexual, aren't you?" continues Potter, peering through his half-blind green eyes. What’s the purpose of such questions?

Potter turns his whole body toward him, his face flushed, almost feverish, and his questions are tactless, rude, filled with vivid interest.

“Yes.”

"Yes to..?” The Savior catches every word, like a thirsty pilgrim kneeling at a holy spring. "Did you enjoy it?"

Yes, he did, and Severus regrets the years he spent like a monk without having a male lover.

"Please don't forget who you are speaking to, Mr. Potter," Snape says in a tense voice.

“You are the only homosexual I know,” Potter reaches for his hand, but Severus pulls away abruptly. “There is no other person I could ask about it. I don't even know _how_ to ask. I killed Voldemort, I died, yet I’m trembling at the knees when I’m trying to find out this one thing, how pathetic is that? Everyone says I'm a hero, but I hardly have the courage to do something really important for myself!”

Snape has no idea where this conversation is going, and he doesn't want to find out. Potter looks too open and interested, and Severus’s intuition is alert in a way that has never happened before, sending restless jittering feeling through his stomach.

"You're too young to know what's important," he says, suddenly harsh in the peaceful quiet of the study, then he stands up, trying to look as dignified and intimidating as possible, and heads for the door. It’s time for this bizarre evening to end.

“I have always been too young, and I'm tired of hearing about what is important from others,” the Hero also rises and goes straight after Severus.

“Potter, I have a raging headache,” wheezes Snape and grabs the door handle.

“You’re lying” the boy interrupts, "you’re always lying to me! Why does everybody…"

"Then stop expecting the truth like everybody owes it to you!" Snape barks and ignominiously escapes from his own rooms, apparating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half of the story is done! :) Stay tuned!
> 
> Lovely Absinthe lent me a helping hand and edited my mistakes away! Lots of love! ♥♥♥


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, I hope you've been waiting for an update!
> 
> Absinthe is still the one with the editing magic ♥♥♥

After waking up, Severus contemplates asking the mediwitch for a hangover remedy, but then Poppy’s assistants with their mediocre essays and jerky, unsure ladle movements appear in front of his eyes like a muggle thriller, and he chooses to wait proudly, wrapped in a blanket, till the nausea has passed. Drinking with Potter... If someone had told him he would be drinking firewhisky with a former student, Severus would have personally sent the madman to St. Mungo’s.

In reality Snape is the one in need of a hospital appointment. A small enchanted mirror reflects his haggard, pale face with deep shadows under his eyes and disheveled, unwashed hair, and short stubble that doesn’t suit him, making him look even more like a prisoner. Severus rubs his chin with his fingers, stops in horror, and shaves off the grown hair with a spell, throwing away the mirror. The life of a wizard is long, but the gray glimmer in his stubble makes him sweat: it's too early to age. He survived the bite of a monstrous serpent, he, a servant of two masters, outlived both. Why now, when everything is starting to get better? Severus feels this is the first step towards death that he hasn’t taken voluntarily.

His decline has already started, and the thought accompanies him to a restless sleep and binds him with dreams where he is weak, and even such an incompetent brat as Ginevra Weasley can openly curse him without fear. A knock on the door pulls him out of a sticky nightmare about being arrested right in the Wizengamot courtroom when Potter accuses him of murdering Dumbledore. He struggles out of bed.

Irrepressible Ravenclaw Lilith Bennett, having knocked so loudly on the door of his rooms, chatters about the alumni who arrived at the construction site - some Slytherins among them – but sees the pale face of her former professor, seemingly bluish against the background of his robe, and sends a Patronus to Pomfrey.

"Miss Bennett, I'm beginning to doubt the wisdom of my decision to make you my assistant," Snape says in a quiet threatening voice.

“I, too, am beginning to doubt your wisdom, sir,” replies the brat, and the Hat should have sorted her into the brave Gryffindor pride. They, too, lack respect for their seniors and any sense of self-preservation.

Poppy apparates directly to the open door of his chambers, escorts miss Bennett out, and mutters diagnostic spells. He knows that she cannot miss the signs of a hangover, and he is awkwardly silent, like a guilty third-year student.

“Drink, Severus,” a vial with the smell of a poorly brewed remedy is shoved under his nose, and this is an outrageous misuse of the ingredients, worthy if not of Longbottom, then of Weasley. Poppy looks at him disapprovingly, not accepting any excuses, and he drinks the potion, then leans back against the pillows, too sick to argue with her. He will pour out all the soup her assistants managed to cook instead of potions, and brew something better as soon as he is up.

"I'm going gray, Poppy," he admits.

“Your body was in too much physical and magical stress for a long time. The hair could have started falling out, so consider yourself lucky," the mediwitch sighs and sits down on a creaky chair.

Severus immediately tugs at a strand of his hair. He should consider himself lucky - Poppy was referring to all the hell he went through during and after the war.

"You are still quite young, Severus, but youth cannot save you forever, you have to make an effort. I told you many times, but did you listen?”

Snape doesn't remember her ever saying anything like that. The mediwitch sees this in his face and huffs in exasperation, muttering that everyone always ignores her words, and then there are no free beds available in the hospital wing. She pauses.

“The hospital wing will be rebuilt soon,” Snape was never good at consolations, but silence seems too rude now.

"The Slytherin wing, too. It was high time to do something about the dungeons: children should not grow up in such a damp drafty place.”

Severus feels like a decrepit log, crumpled up as though he’s a disposable plastic muggle dish. The hangover remedy has done its job, removing the headache, dizziness, and nausea, but he doesn't feel any better - and one can hardly blame it on Poppy's incompetent assistants.

“Your Slytherins have arrived,” says the mediwitch. “They're glad you're back. Forgive yourself, Severus, you have already redeemed all that is possible. In the meantime — ", Snape silently thanks Merlin when her tone becomes businesslike, "Watch your diet, get some fresh air, don’t overwork, drink calming draughts, and you'll be fine again. Love could also get you back on track in no time.”

Snape wrinkles his nose in disgust, and Pomfrey laughs.

"Cheeky witch," he grumbles. "Which house were you in, Poppy?"

"Hufflepuff, Severus, and don't you forget it. Ask a house elf to bring you breakfast, you do need to eat more.”

Finally, she leaves him alone to his thoughts. Poppy could have called the house elf herself, and Severus is truly grateful that she can be trusted not to hurt the pathetic remnants of his pride.

He eats his breakfast without appetite, changes into a warmer robe, and leaves his rooms, heading for the Forbidden Forest. He needs to start small, so that later he could distract himself from bad thoughts. The former Potions professor recalls how, forgetting everything, he spent hours over the Wolfsbane, trying to find the best formula, and in those moments of complete concentration, nothing mattered except the shade of lilac haze over the cauldron after adding aconite and stirring clockwise.

Today, the magic-filled stones of Hogwarts can be seen from afar, like an undying dawn, and the surface of the Great Lake is rippling with orange and gold. Everything will be restored, and in a decade Hogwarts will welcome children who have only heard of the war, who are not marred by scars and memories. Time is so fleeting, but it can heal the war's injuries only by taking the lives of all those who participated in it.

Snape notices a thin net of freezing lichen on tree trunks near the shore, and immediately pulls out a wand: a freshly brewed cooling potion would be useful at the construction site. He heats up the bark carefully to collect a few ounces in the thermosphere, and doesn’t hear the sound of footsteps, as if he had not been a spy in the ranks of the most ferocious monster in the wizarding world for many years.

“Professor! We’ve been looking for you.”

“Potter!” Snape jumps in surprise, but forces himself not to be distracted from the lichen.

“The Slytherins are here, they would like to see you,” Potter comes closer, ogling the silver nets of lichen with curiosity. “What’s that?"

“Something that will help with overheating at the construction site. I'm already aware of my former students’ return, so your mission is complete.”

“The levitating charms come much easier. We thought it was impossible to speed up the reconstruction but today we have done more than the whole previous week.”

“It’s magic, Potter,” replies Snape. It is amazing how one person can cause so much irritation by saying just a couple of phrases. He knows that he is partly angry at himself for being caught off guard, but Potter's childish naivety shows that he learnt nothing at Hogwarts, and this is an insult to all the professors who tried to reveal centuries-old secrets of magic to an ungrateful boy with a broom in the place of his head. It's a shame - yesterday Severus was almost... charmed by Potter. “The more people come back, the easier certain spells will come. The magical background of Hogwarts resonates with the magic of wizards nearby if they are, or used to be, its students.”

“We didn’t count on the Slytherins to return,” the Hero’s voice sounds closer, and the tide of Snape’s anger comes back.

Potter - dressed in a muggle warm-up jacket and jeans - comes closer, sweaty and flushed, as if after a Quidditch match, and Severus can almost feel the heat of his body through the cold, dank wind.

“My students were happy here, Potter, and the spells that were absorbed by Hogwarts’ stones were often emotionally colored. The call of magic is like a cry for help from an old friend: the stronger the connection, the harder it is to stay away.”

Potter listens carefully and seems to hold his breath for a second. Snape does not like his expression at all, he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, and Potter finally and gladly sticks his nose where it doesn’t belong.

“Were you happy here?"

“Oddly enough, Slytherins used to win the House Cup, too, Mr. Potter. Before the headmaster started giving certain students extra points for breaking the rules.”

Potter, of course, finds it funny, the disregard for rules and undeserved praise amuse him. He throws his head back in laughter to reveal a strong, sweaty neck, and his eyes shine green behind the old round glasses. When he comes even closer, Snape stares at the spot where his Adam's Apple protrudes gently. ‘I am an immoral bastard,’ he thinks, but there is no harm in aesthetic appreciation, and Potter will never know how far his ex-professor has fallen. Severus could despise the idiot for his good looks and unshakable lack of interest in the wizarding world, which he saved and in which he found his home.

Severus remembers his own eagerness to learn about this world, the way he spent all his free time in the library, reading encyclopedias, historical books, monographs, periodicals, and even magic tales, which he often heard of from his pure-blood classmates. Potter knows too little, he doesn’t wear everyday robes, preferring muggle clothes, and he doesn't care what people think of him. He is a representative of a new generation of half-blood wizards who will soon become the driving force of the society and will forget the centuries-old history and heritage. Melancholy finally leaves Severus, and its place is taken by good old irritation. All thanks to Potter, who pisses him off just like that and doesn’t even know what else Snape is ready to do to live till the moment when Potter gets it, to see shock on his bespectacled face, when the idiot understands, that all problems cannot be solved by sheer luck and showing off the scar on his forehead.

“I am no longer a professor, Mr. Potter, and I do not intend to lecture you on the topics you would be familiar with if you had paid any attention to your studies. However, you preferred ignoring the sacrifices people made for your sake, finding some adventures instead. Didn’t you?” he asks sarcastically.

The smile fades from Potter's face, he turns away, hunching his shoulders, and starts walking toward the castle. The desire to provoke a reaction in him is too tempting, and Snape almost wants to see his former student cry his heart out again, as he did two days ago. Severus has always been prone to cruelty.

He shrinks the thermosphere, hides it in the inner pocket of his robe, and follows Potter. They pass by the lake to the most damaged parts of Hogwarts — the dilapidated Gryffindor Tower and the flooded dungeons — and Snape feels the former student reek of indignation and something incomprehensible, which makes the air hot and suffocating for many meters around him.

It feels hot at near-zero temperature, and it's not a heating spell. Potter leaves a trail of melted hoar-frost on withered grass behind him, and Snape stops. He has never heard rumors of Potter’s unstable magic, but if so, uncontrollable heroes are quickly disposed of.

“Potter!” he shouts, and the idiot pauses and turns around angrily. The closer Snape gets, the hotter it is, and the Savior’s magic rolls over him like a furious wave. He utters a privacy spell and asks, “How long have you been unable to control it?"

Potter looks away, and when the air gets colder Severus feels it like the ebb tide of the sea.

“After the final battle, sometimes it happens like this, if I'm angry,” he admits. The wet grass turns pale, freezing again under his feet.

Potter’s seemingly balanced demeanor becomes explainable: the Hero has been trying to keep it together and not finish what the Dark Lord began, burning down Hogsmeade and the remnants of Hogwarts.

“When I saw the article about Dumbledore, I was afraid that I would lose control again. I didn't know who else to go to," Potter admits.

So he came to the weakest wizard for miles around, who had been recovering from magical exhaustion. They barely escaped disaster, probably due to Potter's sheer luck, and he doesn’t even realize how unsuitable a wizard he trusted. McGonagall or even Pomfrey could actually have helped him, but they would have asked him to stay out of the construction site for a while. Merlin the Great, give him some patience, but Snape would have done the same thing as Potter.

“Does it happen only when you feel anger? How often?”

Potter nods and lowers his eyes to the ground,

“There were only a few times. When I saw Dumbledore's portrait, when I came to you after the article, yesterday and now.”

"Be more specific, Potter, what happened yesterday?"

“That you lied to me! You lie even in the smallest things!" the former student raises his voice, and sharp cold wind dissolves into a heat wave again.

"Potter, you have no right to ask me for honesty." It's getting hotter, and Severus knows this isn't the right time to enjoy Potter's angry-red cheeks. “Moreover," he continues, "I’d like to think that most often I insulted you, ordered you to shut up and do what was said. I was perfectly sincere in those words.”

The idiot snorts, but - surprisingly - looks calmer, and they are being surrounded by coolness.

"But I was lying," Potter says, adding, "to the newspapers about you. It was necessary, or we wouldn't have had a chance to save your case from a show trial. But you didn't love my mother…”

Snape detests to go over it again. Potter is lucky to be good-looking and unstable - his magic can go off any moment - otherwise Severus would not be here, and Potter would feel free to bask in his guilt till the end of the century.

“She was a dear friend of mine.”

“You didn't do all this for her, but because you couldn't stay away. No one supported you," Potter says, and Snape knows that they are both studiously not thinking about Albus. “You are the toughest man I know, and I dared to call you a coward! I regret every word, every offensive thought…”

Snape is not going to tell the truth that he is a real coward. He’ll keep silent about all monstrous mistakes he made and how he let everyone down, even if destroying Potter’s illusions would save him from the brat’s company for a long time, if not for good. Potter may be the only person who knows about Lily and yet naively thinks him honorable.

"I'm so sorry," Potter says quietly, and once again the Gryffindor brat gets his way without breaking a sweat.

Snape thinks that the horn-headed James would have long rested on the laurels of glory in the place of his son, but his offspring wastes his youth away suffering about things that cannot be changed. How ironic is it that Severus wasted his youth in the same way?

“Your apologies are accepted, Mr. Potter," the former professor says finally, "and now you are coming with me to Madam Pomfrey."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TL;DR** about Snape and Harry:
> 
> You'll see the stories of many minor characters in the second half of the fanfic, because, naturally, Snape and Harry weren't the only ones affected by the war. The fanfic started as a very Snape-focused one, then Snape gets to notice others as he comes out of seclusion, and being able to see those around him and stop concentrating on the things he can't change are vital parts of his progress.
> 
> Snape is going to change much slower than Harry due to his rigid nature. Harry has been able to adapt to new developments quite quickly. I believe it's a very in-character thing.
> 
> I also hope you've noticed that Harry is only starting to fall for Snape. He admired and pitied him at first, was overwhelmed by guilt, then he tried to apologize but he spoke like a trusted confidant and we all know that Snape despises any familiarity and disrespect. Then he saw Snape in a whole new rainbow light, had the _"Oh! Wait, really?.."_ moment, trusted him with his emotional outburst and got the kind of silent comfort and understanding in return that he couldn't find with anybody else. 
> 
> That's when Harry nipped all the pity in the bud and saw Snape as a strong-willed powerful man, the only gay man he knew, and it just made him wonder vaguely _what if_. Events in the following chapters will make his feelings more definite.


	12. Chapter 12

"The Unbreakable Vow, Madam Pomfrey," demands Snape as soon as they step into her office.

"I'm under a regular medical oath. If you need more privacy, go to St. Mungo's," the stubborn witch doesn't even raise her head from the cauldron, and Snape feels bitterness at the fact that everything in this world he has to take by force.

"A medical oath will do," Potter interjects, and Poppy looks around in surprise. 

She casts a stasis spell on the potion, while Severus conjures a complex web of privacy and locking spells that make her anxious wrinkles more noticeable. Just in case, Snape mutters, "_Accio_ Rita Skeeter," and after making sure that there is no reporter nearby, says, "Potter loses control of magic."

"It happened only a few times!" the Hero defends himself, but Poppy is already circling her wand in front of him, applying general diagnostic spells.

"If this becomes public knowledge, you are doomed, Potter, even if it only happened once," Severus feels like he's an infant abuser again, however, his words do the job: they interrupt the nonsense that Potter was going to feed to everyone interested in his welfare. "A medical oath can be circumvented, it's only under the Unbreakable Vow that one cannot testify in the Wizengamot."

Poppy unbuttons her right cuff without a word and pulls the sleeve up, exposing her vow-ringed forearm. There is an unacceptable number of them — about fifty — and Severus has never seen anything like this: vows are dark on her arm like slave shackles. There are only three vow rings on his forearm, and he has paid dearly for each one. Indeed, Pomfrey can't afford to be bound by another. The mediwitch buttons the cuff wearily and asks,

"When did it start?"

Potter tells her everything, and Snape tells even more. Poppy frowns, then summons an aura sphere from the back of the shelves, passes it into Potter's hands carefully, and waves her wand. The smoky swirls inside the sphere flash like fireworks and go out just as quickly, then light up again, reflecting red and blue on Potter's face, fading away, dissolving into the gray mist. The mediwitch looks confused and even the forever ignorant Hero cannot miss that something is wrong.

"Harry, you've been through a lot as a child with an unstable and undeveloped aura," she says finally. "I'm afraid some curses may have affected you more than adult wizards.”

Severus knows that if the aura sphere were in his own hands, it would not glow with the confident and healthy shades of yellow, too, but who is unscathed after the war?

"I'm just a mediwitch," Pomfrey continues. "At St. Mungo's-"

"Impossible," Snape snaps.

"I daren't—"

"You'll have to," he insists grimly.

"Professor Snape, there is no place for experiments in such cases!"

"There's also no place for outsiders. There are now as many hidden listening charms in the entire hospital as there were in the former Minister's office."

The mediwitch crosses her arms over her chest, and Snape stares at her, growing more and more enraged. This old stubborn Huffpuff hen, how could she not realize that under no circumstances can Potter show up at St. Mungo's? After the war, he is too important a figure to be confident in his safety, and it wouldn't be difficult to bribe a couple of healers. There may even be some former Dark Lord supporters among the staff. Sending Potter there? Sheer lunacy.

The former student interrupts their silent argument. 

"Maybe there's a way to talk to someone from St. Mungo's without mentioning my name, just ... well, to get a theoretical opinion on a theoretical problem, you know?"  
Snape looks at Potter as if he's mad.

"It may be a frequent occurrence after the war. There could be some general recommendations, potions or spells..." he tries to explain his point. "Still better than not knowing anything at all. Right?"

"There are libraries, Mr. Potter, made exactly for the cases when you want to know something," begins Severus irritably, but the mediwitch interrupts him.

"That's a good idea. Usually we just hand the patients over to each other if it's beyond our competence, but now... I'll go to St. Mungo's," Poppy agrees. "Don't worry, Harry, I won't reveal your identity. But if there's any danger, I can't help you. Had it been a dragon pox or a broken arm..."

Poppy takes the aura sphere from Potter's hands and levitates it back to the shelf. Snape shows his former student the door, removing all privacy and locking spells, waits till he leaves and asks,

"Was that Albus, Poppy? Did you make these vows to him?"

The mediwitch doesn't say anything and returns to the cauldron. They both know the answer, Snape gave two of the three vows to Dumbledore, but the mediwitch has so many... Severus desperately wants to destroy the headmaster's office to kingdom come, but it now belongs to Minerva McGonagall — another pawn in the games of Albus.

"Damn it!" he hisses. "Was there at least one person..." 

Who _he_ didn't use? Who _he_ really cared about? Snape doesn't know what he wants to say, so he just slams the door on his way out.

Potter makes a clumsy attempt to slip away at the sight of Snape's furious face, but the former professor stops him,

"Potter! You do realize that you are a danger to others, don't you? Where are you going?"

"Professor, you do understand that every wand counts at the construction site, don't you?" the thick-headed Hero doesn't listen to sound arguments, but he can lose control of his magic if one dares to hint that he is a walking safety hazard — what a truly Gryffindor hypocrisy. 

Previously, Severus would have crushed him with a glare but the grown-up Potter withstands it stoically,

"I'd be furious if I had to miss even a day knowing I could help."

"A poor attempt at blackmail by uncontrolled magical outburst, Mr. Potter." 

"Help is always needed at the construction site, so if you're really worried, you could just be there to keep everything in check."

Oh, the irony. That's all Severus was trying to do when Potter was in school, still the brat managed to find one problem after another. Who knows what he might get into if he isn't busy? Although Potter hasn't lost control of his magic at the construction site yet. 

Being Potter's babysitter is a great honor Severus Snape can't get rid of.

The former Potions professor invites Potter to go ahead with a mockingly polite gesture, and he walks behind him at a distance to avoid any attack of Potter's talkativeness. As they approach the construction site, the air, sparkling with magic, becomes hot, and Potter takes off his muggle puffy jacket, remaining in a T-shirt grown thin from casting constant cleansing spells, stuck to his wide sweaty back.

Potter is obscenely well-built. Severus puts a cooling spell on his warm robe and looks at the broad shoulders and damp short dark hair at the back of the Gryffindor's head. Shameful desires, concerning young wizards, led Severus to the potion of impotence last time, but now he will be wiser: he'll help Potter, enjoy the sight of his developed muscles, and achieve satisfaction in solitude. Who else should a single homosexual man pay attention to when he is surrounded by no peers? Potter would never know.

Severus moves even farther away as soon as he sees Lilith Bennet, but she doesn't even notice him and, touching the Hero's shoulder with her hand, begins to tell him something. The girl must have lost her mind from the heat: who wears dresses at a construction site? Ah. She's in love with Potter, of course. 

Snape remembers how excitedly she spoke of the Gryffindor when Severus was recuperating at Pomfrey's. They would make a beautiful couple: she is a pure-blooded, talented witch with jet-black hair, so white-skinned and graceful. She has irrepressible energy and determination, but without the touch of superiority that many talented witches like Granger have. No, Lilith is well-bred and modest enough, and Potter... hardly understands himself. His doubts about his orientation have more to do with Ginevra Weasley's personality. Checking one's preferences with her is the same as checking one's homosexual tendencies in the company of Snape: a bad choice which would lead to fundamentally wrong conclusions.

The Ravenclaw is pushed aside by a group of four Bulgarian artefactologists who surround Potter from all sides and Snape's mood becomes even worse.

He walks around the construction site and notices a tent camp, green like the colors of his own house, and his heart skips a beat.

"Professor Snape!" a voice calls out, and he turns abruptly. 

His little snakes are here: former seventh-year students Blaise Zabini and Barnaby Pike, who evacuated from Hogwarts before the Final battle, Daphne Greengrass, who took part in the battle with her young man from Ravenclaw, and Gemma Farley, a 1997 graduate.

The Slytherins, encouraged by the former Head of the House's rare smile, rush to meet him, and Severus is willing to bet that Daphne can barely keep herself from running. His brave little serpents who came to the call of the school's magic - it's unbelievable how much he missed them.

"I'm glad to welcome you back to Hogwarts. It's tedious to be the only one who keeps a cool head in the middle of this bedlam," he says, as if everything has just returned to normal. His students, whom he tirelessly defended against the prejudices of other houses might be what was missing all this time. Dear prudent and cautious Slytherins, who know when to stay out, who always think about the consequences, and now Hogwarts fully feels like home.

"Professor!" says Gemma Farley, the former Head Girl, his trusted and responsible helper, who has turned into a strong and stunning young witch in the three years he hasn't seen her, "We are glad to be back. It's no good for one Slytherin to defend the honor of the entire house."

Snape takes another look at their small camp, thinking how shameful it is that the Slytherins feel the need to stay so far away for safety reasons, and that Severus should have returned earlier for their sake.

"We are the first to arrive, but several other people from my year also want to come," Gemma continues. "And I know a couple of blokes from '98 who wouldn't mind helping out at the construction site."

Severus understands exactly why his snakes are so cautious and tries to encourage them,

"The draft for the new Slytherin wing is ready," he says, and his former students perk up. "No more dungeons."

"Great news, Professor! It seemed to me that you used to brew a whole cauldron of the Pepperup just for me," says Daphne and the Slytherins laugh.

"You shouldn't have sat on that couch; everybody knew it was right on that draughty spot," says Blaise Zabini.

"There were no draughts in the Ravenclaw common room at all!"

"It's a wonder you got sick, you hardly spent any time in our common room," Pike grumbles, and Severus didn't expect anything else: the boy has long been in love with the elder Greengrass.

"And I let you cheat off me anyway," replies Daphne and speaks to her former Head of the house. "It was Pike who suggested we all go together, and he invited Blaise and Gemma. I would have come here alone."

"Dear Ravenclaws wouldn't have let you get bored," Zabini teases.

"I only know a couple of the girls who came back," Daphne shrugs casually, and Pike keeps his eyes on her. Merlin, Severus is no longer used to teenage dramas.

"It's a pity that new kids won't be able to see the Giant Squid in the window of the common room anymore," Gemma says. "It always swam in front of the window before exams, as if wishing good luck."

Snape recalls the first time he saw the Giant Squid - it seemed like a gigantic monster to him, and afterwards seniors told stories that the Slytherin house was awarded a hundred points for each drowned Gryffindor, and fifty points were deducted for each drowned Slytherin.

"We should enchant a couple of windows so that future Slytherins could see it too," Zabini suggests, and all the former students nod in agreement. 

Snape leaves the draft of the new wing for their close study and goes back to the construction site at ease. After stubborn, idiotic, and unpredictable Potter, the former students of his house are a breath of fresh air among the construction dust. Minerva was right: they would have to recover the reputation of the house, but the Slytherins can handle it. Four ex-students have returned despite the prejudices against his house, more will follow.

Tanned, smiling Potter sits at a wooden table surrounded by dark-haired Bulgarians — оh, no, Lilith Bennett doesn't stand a chance, Potter has never reacted to her like this: animatedly, stubbornly defending his ideas, so willingly accepting them into his personal space. When he gets up, the Bulgarians jump up behind him, and in their dialogue Severus hears the name of Pomona Sprout. Merlin knows what they are doing, and Snape forces himself not to follow Potter like he is strapped to him. Let the Hero sort it out, especially since he has something to discuss with the Bulgarians without the presence of his former professor.

Potter is handsome and young, the Bulgarians are broad-shouldered and not much older, and Severus would never allow himself to touch someone in public the way a particularly frisky Bulgarian touches Potter's shoulder and back; it looks almost like foreplay. This is the national Hero's business, he has every right to experiment with young healthy wizards, and Severus tries not to think about how pathetic it is to have one single sexual experience at almost thirty-eight.

It is getting dark, and the glow of the stones seems brighter against the deep blue sky. Snape removes the cooling spell from his robe and returns to his chambers. The temperature drops more in a deserted street, the first snow falling from the sky — it's winter, and very soon he will be thirty-eight. Perhaps Severus should go back to London and find a willing muggle to kiss and caress, as he did with Godfrey. Perhaps the next time he would dare to try oral sex — the thought of a red-hot cock with a wet head makes Severus gasp.

He charms the front door closed and takes a prostate stimulator from the chest along with an anti-inflammatory balm. Severus throws off his clothes, drops on the bed, trying to relax, and presses on his chest with his hand, remembering gentle Potter's embrace when the young man tried to keep him from falling. Potter and his muscular arms, broad shoulders, sweaty back, and probably such a hard erection.

Snape lubricates the stimulator hastily and presses it to his entrance, and this is exciting: the harder he presses, the sweeter is the stretch of his unprepared body. It almost hurts, but his cock aches with excitement in spite of everything. Severus wraps his hand around himself, slick with the balm, and the combination of slow, painful pressure on the anus and the pleasure of massaging his cock sends hot waves through him. Snape twitches in a delightful spasm, when the widest part of the stimulator slips inside, and he wants more, deeper and stronger, and next time he will enlarge the massager to imagine that it’s someone's thick and hard cock opening him wide.

Severus pushes the stimulator in to the base, squeezes his thighs and moves forward. The toy slips slightly, and he frantically jerks his hips, fucking into his palm. The prostate still responds with slight flashes of pain, but the very sensation of the stimulator stretching the inner walls is so pleasant, and Snape moans: his anus is very sensitive, isn't he the kind of a lover many homosexuals would want?

The massager slips out and slides in as Severus presses his thighs against the mattress, gasping for breath. He covers the head of his cock with his hand, and the orgasm wrings all the energy out of him. His ass is firmly squeezed on the toy, causing a special, deep shiver.

Oh, Merlin.

Severus sprawls on his narrow bed, exhausted, trying to catch his breath. He barely lifts his head from the pillow to look with a disgusted expression at his thin thighs, sunken stomach and flat chest with sparse black hairs. He rolls over to his side and carefully pulls out the stimulator. He needs to get back to London and find someone - the sooner the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absinthe has helped me with the text editing ♥♥♥


	13. Chapter 13

Severus wakes up at five in the morning and lies on the bed, staring into the pitch darkness of his room. He's used to windowless dungeons, but the tiny bedroom here is a mockery compared to the Head of Slytherin's chambers at Hogwarts. Sleep does not come, and Snape gives up, throws on a work robe, and goes to the laboratory to brew a whole standard cauldron #2 of the Cooling potion.

He finally does something useful. Since returning to Hogwarts, he has been following Poppy's advice, scribbling red ink on the new Slytherin wing drafts and provoking reporters to write questionable articles. Even Potter did more for the school, spending all his time at Hogwarts along with other graduates and workers. Dusty, persistent, and indefatigable Potter. If the temperature at the construction site increases more, the Hero will get rid of his T-shirt, and this can not be allowed — the frisky, uncultured Bulgarian will completely lose control of himself. What a vulgarity disregard for decorum; his former student does not need rumors of this kind, that without a doubt would reach newspapers in an instant.  
Severus pours the potion in small transparent vials on necklaces, passes them to a house elf with exhaustive instructions, and when it disappears to the construction site, spends a blissfully thoughtless half an hour scrubbing the cauldrons manually, washing the knives and cutting boards, and putting the ingredients back in their places. 

He goes outside as soon as the dawn begins, and newly fallen snow under his feet first turns into slush, then completely disappears as he approaches the heat of the construction site. Hogwarts’ stones shine brightly, and Severus feels the first alarming prick of intuition.

It's obvious that the work didn't stop at night: the volunteers had divided into shifts and tirelessly mended the cracks in the walls with special mortar. Many wizards nod at Snape from a distance, pointing to the potion vials they've put around their necks. Potter is also here with dark circles under his eyes, predictably half-dressed and discontented, since early morning surrounded by exhausted and equally sleep-deprived Bulgarians. They are listening to Pomona Sprout, who is not quite yelling at them like a mandrake root. Yet.

Each neck wears a lace with his potion, and a former Hufflepuff passerby says, 

"Thank you, sir. It felt like we were boiling inside a cauldron!"

Severus feels Potter's gaze with all his back. The stones glow red-hot, the sky brightens into a tender blue colour, cloudless and distant, and nothing hurts. The air is full of magic buzzing around, and all together it makes his stomach clench in apprehension: it's too quiet, undeservedly good - the calm before the storm.

Nervous sweat, which feels icy after a couple of drops of the Cooling potion, makes Snape shiver. Something is wrong. His magic is rebelling and telling him to run. The air is ringing, and his instincts have saved his life too many times that it doesn't even occur to him to pretend that everything's fine. He conjures a protective dome and wonders whether anyone but Potter will listen to him if he says it's not safe here. Severus turns around, catches the Savior's eye, and raises his wand in a warning. Potter's expression doesn't change, but he reaches for his pocket and looks around with a bored look.

Severus is going around the construction site to the Slytherin camp, when the only surviving wall of a household annex collapses with a loud hum, and magic pushes him to the ground, away from the shards. His sleepy former students run out of their tents with wands ready. Zabini and Gemma rush to help him up and set a joint protective dome. The disturbing buzz of magic melts in the stone dust covering everything.

"Haven't they reinforced the walls?" asks Pike, voicing Snape's suspicions. Greengrass stands next to him, disheveled and wary, clutching her wand so tightly that her fingers turn white as she stares at the wreckage.

"I heard it last night; magic was humming so close," Zabini says, waving his wand to clear the air inside the dome.

The pale Slytherins watch as glowing stone dust settles around them. They will have to go around the entire Hogwarts on the other side to get to Hogsmeade safely — who knows what kind of magic is involved here. Perhaps it was an attempt to threaten his former students, or even…

"We can't take any chances," Snape says hoarsely. "Set up a protective dome over the camp, take the most necessary things, and come back here."

The Slytherins nod and run to their tents, and Severus tries to breathe through the panic that is devouring him from within — dear Merlin, he can't even take a deep breath, managing only small sips of air — and looks for the portkey to Hogsmeade in the inner pockets of his robe. He's gone soft - how did he have the audacity to consider himself a spy? When the Slytherins return, he tells them to touch the silver locket and says, "Hogsmeade."

The portkey carries them into the snow-dusted bushes next to the Three Brooms, his little snakes help each other out of the prickly branches, and stare at him silently and tensely when he charms a Patronus - thank Merlin, he manages it on the first try,

"Minerva, a wall collapsed near the Slytherin camp. The Slytherins are safe, we're in Hogsmeade."

A silver cat appears in front of him almost immediately, and the headmistress's voice responds,

"Aurors are already there. Go to Poppy."

The Slytherins follow him to Madam Pomfrey's temporary infirmary, but the mediwitch doesn't even look at his former students, aiming her wand at him,

"Don't argue, professor Snape, you are the only one covered in dust."

Poppy mumbles healing spells, his former students huddle at the door safe and sound, and Severus grabs the key chain in the inner pocket of his robe frantically, falling into the funnel of the portkey to London, right in the middle of another spell. He has to get home, where there would be no witnesses to his disgrace.

Severus gets to his apartment, slams the door deafeningly, and loses his breath, lights fading as he slides down to the floor, gasping for air. It's cold and his head feels frozen - it must be raining outside, and the Cooling potion is well-brewed. Severus casts a warming spell, but the chill doesn't go away. There are aurors in the castle. There are protective charms, yet there could be any Dark Lord supporter, who expressed a desire to help at the construction site, any of those who disagreed with his acquittal, and he could get killed before they build the new wing for the Slytherins. Severus wouldn't even have time to see the '98 graduates return, and he has been especially proud of them for being dedicated and unswayed in the chains of prejudice and chaos of the upcoming war.

Minerva's silver patronus jumps up on his lap and says,

"There is no danger now, just one experimental reinforcement ritual came into conflict with another. Severus, it's alright. The Slytherins are still with Poppy."

‘Alright’ — this word has always sounded false. Snape drags himself to his emergency getaway trunk, grabs a sedative and takes the maximum dose, and it, Merlin damn all, never works properly, but at least his hands stop shaking, and he manages to take a couple of deep breaths. Severus strides from one corner of the room to the other, but the tense spring inside doesn't release. It's ‘alright’, just like that.

His stomach twists with a nervous thirst for activity, so he changes into muggle clothes, hides his wand in his coat pocket, takes an umbrella, and walks out the door. It is warmer in London than in Hogsmeade. There is no snow, only nasty drizzle, and he is walking the familiar route Tesco-park-theatre-park, when he hears,

"Severus!"

Snape twitches as if cursed, but it's that muggle, Godfrey Baker, and Severus has completely forgotten that he lives nearby. Snape is standing right in front of his house, and one could think that he's come here on purpose, and one could think that Godfrey is glad to see him and rushed out into the street after noticing him through the window.

"Godfrey," Severus nods his head in greeting as welcoming as he can pretend, and the muggle smiles hesitantly, clears his throat just like Umbridge, and comes closer to stand under Snape's umbrella, while the former Potions professor tries to steady his shaking knees. It's alright, it's so easy to agree that everything is alright, and when Severus finds out who is responsible for the collapse of the wall, he will drag the bastard under a protective dome and release his raging magic so it would burn them both alive.

"I was hoping to see you again. Are you busy now?" 

Severus takes in his morning stubble and wet hair, remembers his strong arms and supple lips as he kissed his stomach and gave him pleasure that one night. Perhaps sex is just what he needs right now. His magic has returned, he can always correct the muggle's memory in case of failure, and when else if not now?

Any time but now, Snape still feels sick with panic. However, Godfrey is offering when no one ever did.

"Shall we go to a cafe? There's a nice place nearby," Godfrey suggests, and points toward a familiar building. 

Severus tightens the grip of his stiff fingers on the umbrella and walks beside the muggle - he shouldn’t refuse when it's the only proposition he gets. The cafe is almost empty - apparently, everyone chooses to stay home on such a gloomy weekend morning.

"It was rude of me not to offer you a drink back then, but I couldn't help myself," Godfrey admits, and Severus can barely contain nervous irritation, because he's not a woman and doesn't require such careful handling.

"I'll have coffee then," Snape tells the waiter, and Godfrey, without taking his eyes off him, orders the same. "That will be enough for a drink."

Sex would relieve his tension. Sex right now, when they leave the cafe and walk a couple of houses down the street. Godfrey won't mind, and who are they not to live in the moment? Next time a collapse might not be an accident, then everything won’t be "alright". Carpe diem*, Professor Snape.

"Professor Snape!" echoes a shout across the cafe. "You're here!"

Here he goes again. 

Severus gives a forced, apologetic smile to Godfrey, who laughs openly, gesturing to go on, and whispers, "Professor," in a low sultry voice, so that Snape wants to kiss him right there, put a hand in his pants under the table, and to hell with everyone, to hell with Potter.

"Excuse me for a minute," Severus mutters and gets up from the table.

Potter has already rushed through the hall of the cafe directly to him — panting, disheveled, flushed, and stupid just like his father, and if the brat ruins his day completely, he will curse him so hard that any Slytherin would give a standing ovation at the mere mention of Snape’s name.

"How did you find this place?" he snarls and pulls Potter away from his table roughly.

"You gave me a sign and went towards the Slytherin camp, and then the wall collapsed. I was afraid that —" Potter runs out of breath and pauses. "But then McGonagall said you were alright and went to Hogsmeade, and the Slytherins said you used a portkey, and McGonagall said she couldn't tell me your address but there was a nice cafe in London that you liked, so I've been running around this area for half an hour already."

Severus is going to talk to Minerva about her liberties in divulging secrets, but he needs to get rid of Potter first.

"Now that you are sure of my health, go. I am busy."

A fierce look doesn't affect Potter, neither do _Avada_ and _Imperio_. The brat is able to tolerate _Crucio_. There must be something that would work!

Potter stares at the no less intrigued Godfrey, and it can't end in anything good, so the Hero of the wizarding world had better leave.

"Will you join us?" Godfrey asks loudly.

"He's in a hurry," Snape snaps.

"To accept, I’m so hungry," Potter finishes stubbornly, comes to the table and introduces himself. "Harry Potter."

"Godfrey Baker," says his companion.

Damnation.

Potter pulls another chair to their table unceremoniously, takes off his shabby puffy jacket and remains in a thinned T-shirt. The cafe is empty, and a quick waiter offers full English breakfast, to which Potter readily agrees and falls silent, glaring at Snape. Now the brat is going to ruin everything on principle.

The waiter is quick to bring the coffee and Potter's order, and his former student pounces on the food as if his life depends on it. He exhales with satisfaction and puts a strip of fried bacon in his mouth, closes his eyes in pleasure, then reaches for a cup and swallows the tea, bites the toast, and gets back to the cup like a young and hungry animal. Such indecency.

He looks naked compared to Severus and Godfrey, and they gape at the line of strong Potter's shoulders and his young yet mature face like a couple of old perverts.

"So," Godfrey coughs, embarrassed, and finally shifts his eyes from the national Hero to Severus. "You are a professor."

"And Mr. Potter is my student," Snape nods grimly.

"Former student," Potter interjects, and hasn't anyone taught him that it's rude to talk with a full mouth?

"Professor Snape, is that right?"

"Former professor, to be exact," corrects Severus, and he feels it with skin that Potter smirks.

"What subject?"

"Chemistry," answers Potter, before Snape remembers what subjects muggle schools and colleges usually have. "Professor was absolutely unbearable."

"This is a subject that requires precision and concentration, Mr. Potter. A mistake can lead to serious consequences, and I was not going to tolerate irresponsibility in my class."

"What do you do now, Harry?" Godfrey has a gentle way of moving quickly to a first name basis, and Severus grits his teeth when he hears Potter's name from him.

"He works at a construction site," Snape says. "Mr. Potter, the Bulgarians are waiting for you."

"Are they? Professor, I thought you'd be the first to miss me!" The vindictive Gryffindor asshole deliberately slows down as he dips his toast into the yolk of an egg.

"Judging by the fact that you can't leave me alone, you're the one who longs to see me," replies Snape and takes a sip of his already cooling coffee.

"I chased you for six months begging for a chance to talk," Potter shrugs. "I'm afraid if I let you out of my sight, you'll disappear again," and he takes a big bite of fried eggs, and Severus can't bear to watch his jaw and his Adam's Apple move as the Hero swallows his food. 

Severus breaks away from contemplating his hungry ex-student, turns to Godfrey, who catches his eye, and involuntarily falls into the muggle's mind, plunging into fantasies where Snape takes Potter face to face on a school desk, where Potter sucks Godfrey's cock greedily and Severus stretches this shameless muggle with his fingers and says in his hoarse voice how much he wants to fuck his hole, making Godfrey spread his thighs wider with the words, "Mr. Potter, you'd better watch how grown men do it."

Potter never chased him in that way.

Nervous energy evaporates, as if by _Evanesco_, and all that remains is dumb numb fatigue. Godfrey touches his fingers, and Potter's jaw clenches so tightly that the tense muscles are showing. Then, with a visible effort, the young man looks away and focuses on his plate, shoving breakfast into his mouth almost automatically, without savoring each bite as he did just a minute ago.

"I see that I've interrupted something," Potter says, and his gaze shifts back to Snape's hand.

"That's what I tried to tell you earlier, when you just entered the cafe," Severus curls his lips in a polite smile and turns to Godfrey. "To my regret, he's unteachable."

Potter blushes angrily and falls silent. 

Godfrey laughs into his coffee, and Snape is so sorry that anything that could happen between them is now completely ruined. He doesn't know "how grown men do it", he has no experience, and he won't risk disappointment. He takes a few banknotes from his coat pocket, enough to pay the entire bill, passes them to the waiter, and stands up.

"Unfortunately, I have to go. Godfrey, Mr. Potter," he nods at the confused men and leaves the cafe dejected and gutted after the rollercoaster of this morning. At the turn to his street, Severus hears someone catching up with him. It's ubiquitous Potter who manages to spoil everything in his former professor’s pathetic life.

"Mr. Potter, what else do you need? You've imposed enough."

"The wall collapsed because of a failed ritual," the Hero blurts out, and Severus stops, staring at the former student. "Dimitar and Vazil wanted to set up a trial protective circuit last night, but the magic of Hogwarts only accepts those who studied there, it caused a conflict with existing wards."

Ah, is that so? Inexperienced and self-confident Bulgarians invited by Potter and Co. It wasn't an attempt to kill, nor an act of intimidation for all Slytherins, it was all because of handicapped, irresponsible wizards who could not be allowed to approach the school for a kilometer. Abominable.

Severus turns around, completely exhausted, and walks to his house. Potter follows him, apparently wishing to invite himself in. The secret of his address has already been revealed thanks to the compassionate headmistress, so Severus will simply slam the door in front of long, persistent Potter's nose.

His neighbor looks out as soon as Snape gets the keys.

"Samuel! You've been gone for so long that I was starting to worry!"

"Thank you for your concern, Mrs. Yates," he tries to put the key in the lock faster.

"Your boy looks so young, Samuel, are you sure he's legal?"

"This is my former student," he replies stoically.

Severus is cursed, and his torment will never end. He knows that Potter is gaping at him now. Fortunately, the boy has never been the one to spread rumors, and Skeeter doesn’t know his address, otherwise it would be the right time to start packing things to move to another country, because in this one he wouldn't be able to have a life anymore.

"Oh? Well, I really liked that curly-haired young man, he resembled my late husband in his youth," Mrs. Yates says, and Severus remembers the bloke whose hair he once used for the Polyjuice. "Come for tea, Samuel, I'm always happy to see you."

The door lock finally gives, and Severus drags shocked Potter into his apartment, away from the revelations of his elderly neighbor.

"Potter, for Merlin’s sake, apparate before I curse you," Snape hisses, but Potter shakes his head furiously and squeezes into the living room like a sleazy snake. The brat should have been sorted to Slytherin, and then Severus would have killed himself on 1st September and wouldn't be in this mess now.

To tell the truth, he has completely forgotten that erotic periodicals and vulgar muggle books lie in plain sight, but Potter’s prolonged silence reminds him of the fact. Well, it can't get any worse, he has hit the rock bottom. 

Severus goes to the kitchen and makes himself a cup of tea. 

If he had seen McGonagall or Sprout from such a private side when he was a student, he would have set himself alight with embarrassment. However, Potter doesn't seem to care: he just stands and stares at the half-naked men on the covers in the apartment of his former professor. Doesn't he have any shame?

"It's easier for muggles, isn't it?" finally says Potter.

"What?" Severus is not going to try guessing what is going on in the Hero's head.

"Being gay."

"Yes, Potter," replies Snape.

"Godfrey. Are the two of you..?"

"None of your business."

Severus thinks about Godfrey's fantasy bedding two men at the same time, and it almost makes him sick. Muggles and their perverse preferences, which Snape won’t ever consider.

"For a moment I thought you were lovers but he didn't know much about you."

"The Bulgarians are waiting," Snape replies, hoping that they have long been cursed by Minerva McGonagall.

"And you’re going to go back to him?" asks Potter angrily, and Severus does not want to participate in another round of Potter's magical outbursts. He abruptly cuts the distance, hovers over the brat, putting on the scariest expression that his face is capable of, and barks, "Cease this immediately!"

Potter's magic stops being suffocating in his living room, but the Hero doesn't pull away.

"I searched through the debris, then met headmistress McGonagall and the Slytherins and came here. You didn't spend much time brewing the potion," Potter takes a vial out of his pocket, "When I used a potion-linked searching spell, it worked for fifty meters at most."

Snape recalls that Potter really looked out of breath — was he combing the entire area with the vial? Sheer Gryffindor stupidity. 

"Don't you have anything else to do?" Severus asks. "The headmistress told you that I was not injured."

"I had to make sure. I would never leave again like I did in the Shrieking Shack. Please, come back to Hogwarts with me," Potter asks quietly.

Severus takes out a silver locket with a sigh, holds it out to Potter, and when the Hero touches the niello pattern, he says, "Hogsmeade."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * From Horace's “Odes”. The phrase is part of the longer _“carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero”_, which is often translated as "Seize the day, put very little trust in tomorrow".
> 
> Absinthe-The-Marvelous-Editor and I made the chapter nice and readable. ♥ I bet you didn't expect us to be so quick :P


	14. Chapter 14

If another disappointment falls on Severus's shoulders today, he will collapse like a tower of cards. This is insulting; the Bulgarians are still alive, unharmed and in the castle, if somehow less arrogant than usual. Had any Slytherin been in their place, only Merlin knows what would have happened.

His lively serpentarium sends dozens of letters to former graduates of the house with a request for help; the Slytherin wing is a matter of honor for all those who have ever worn the green emblem on their robes, and the Bulgarians are not to be trusted. Some alumni come immediately, forcing the headmistress to sign permits for hours straight, and the aurors to be anxiously alert. Owls scurry everywhere, then _she_ arrives with a team of French builders, and Severus's forearm burns with memories of the Unbreakable Vow and everything that followed.

"Narcissa Malfoy has been looking for you," says the headmistress.

His jaw tightens at _her_ name. Like those reptiles chasing their victim after one bite, waiting for them to die from the venom, Mrs. Malfoy, nee Black, wants to stab him in the stomach with her gratitude, and coerce Severus to help her family. Feeling sick just thinking about it, Snape buys a bottle of crackling rum in the Three Broomsticks and escapes to London.

It is raining again, and the cold drops are refreshing. He casts a covering spell and walks past the park, thinking about the Slytherins. Newspapers are silent about what is happening at Hogwarts, flaming more and more on the topic of homosexuality, printing interviews with his former students who swear that Severus Snape has always been an old pervert and forced them to scrub cauldrons stark naked. Still not a word about Slytherins. All the graduates arrived secretly, donated some money, or offered other assistance, then left, asking to contact them immediately if there was anything they could help with. They'll get their share later, when Hogwarts opens again.

The former Potions professor meanders steadily past the theater and the supermarket, bypasses the deserted park again, walks out to his street and notices a familiar figure in a puffy jacket standing outside his house. Snape doesn't feel annoyance, just tired curiosity. How on Earth did the brat know that Severus was in London?

"Potter, what do you want?"

The Hero flashes his glasses and immediately falls back to being retarded,

"Professor Snape, what a coincidence!"

Pretending to be an imbecile at the first sign of trouble is a special skill of his, honed to perfection over the years. Dear Merlin, how Severus hated the idiot when he was his student. _"Mr. Potter, what exactly are you doing outside the Gryffindor Tower at midnight?" - "Is it midnight already?" "Where did you read about the Sectusempra spell?" - "Somewhere... in a book, maybe? I don't remember." "Did you steal the gillyweed for the tournament?" - "Professor Snape, I honestly don't know what you're talking about."_

Potter forces a smile, pulls at the zipper of his jacket nervously, averting his eyes. Snape raises his eyebrows, waiting a few moments, but the stubborn Gryffindor doesn't say a word and just shifts from one foot to the other.

So, Potter has followed him, he probably charmed a couple of alerts somewhere in the area, but why would he do that? A special assignment from aurors or Minerva McGonagall? Snape exhales resignedly, stepping to the building's entrance, and Potter hurries right behind him, as if tied to his former professor. 

The brat bumps into someone, mumbles an apology, and when Severus notices long disheveled black curls out of the corner of his eye — so similar to Lestrange's — his heart drops down to his stomach for a second. He remembers seeing this quiet, strange woman outside his house when he was filled with paranoia, sitting at the window for hours as she delivered mail in the mornings.

Potter turns around, too, and Snape sees the exact moment when the shadows of recognition cloud his face. He pulls the zipper lower and frantically fumbles for his wand in his jacket's inner pocket of his jacket. Snape grabs Potter by the scruff of the neck and drags him into the entrance hall. After the war, when he had first seen this woman who looks so much like Bellatrix, Severus spent all his magic on _Avada_, but not even a single green spark appeared on the tip of his wand — he didn't have enough strength. Back then, just after the Final battle, he was a cornered wounded beast. He would have killed the muggle, but the attempt at the Unforgivable only squeezed every last drop of magic out of him, and his numb hands remained insensitive extensions of his body for the entire twenty-four hours that he spent crippled.

Potter's furious magical outburst scalds his skin red and melts the air with heat.

"Stop it, Lestrange is dead! It's just a muggle, Potter! Lestrange is dead!"

But the Hero does not hear him. The veins in his temple bulge, and his magic is going to burn Severus alive if nothing is done.

He pulls away for a second, slaps the boy in the face, and shouts,

"Potter, Merlin damn you!"

The heat of magic subsides, and Snape drags the former student up the stairs into his apartment, and lets him fall on the old sofa. Potter looks completely deranged. He's shaking, and Severus can't unclench the young man’s fingers, which hold his wand in a death grip. Everything that is connected with Potter constantly brings problems to Snape, as if both of them are cursed, not just the ex-spy. Potter needs to be distracted, and Snape rummages through his pockets, finds a bottle of crackling rum, locks the black-haired head into a choke-hold, forcing Potter to drink from the bottle. The young man chokes, coughs, and tries to turn away, but Snape holds on tight, until pale golden drops flow down Potter’s chin and soak into his stupid red puffy jacket.

Potter turns around, finally releases the wand, and grabs Snape by the shoulders with an immobilizing grip like the Giant Squid.

"What if _he_ is not dead?" Potter croaks.

"Don't talk nonsense," snaps Snape, and this is blatant hypocrisy; he still feels cold terror from any discomfort in his left forearm. One cannot live in fear all their life, and Potter had better use all his Gryffindor courage to get rid of such thoughts entirely. However, the Hero is young but not naive, and the last time the Dark Lord was "killed", everything turned out to be a lie. Why would anyone believe it now?

Severus tries to soothe him by stroking his back through the jacket, but Potter begins shaking even harder, muttering,

"I dream that everyone survived through Horcruxes, and they are monsters, too, and I need to kill them, but I cannot, I just... And you're the only one capable of doing the right thing, you make the toughest decisions yourself," Potter sucks the air in his lungs and continues into Snape's coat. "So you kill Dumbledore, Sirius, Remus, Dora, Fred, my mom and dad…"

Snape shoves Potter away and tries to shut him up with the bottle again, and the young man chokes, unclasps his hands and falls into the soft dip of the old sofa. Snape drops next to him and grabs his throat to keep him silent and stop the twitching, while Potter painfully puffs, "I hate you!" to the dusty upholstery.

They have much in common: Potter also sees dead people, and if only he knew how much Severus also hates himself. Snape puts the bottle on the floor and tries to get to his wand to summon a sedative, but the Gryffindor wriggles like a snake and shoves him down. Snape's back shoots with pain, and he grimaces, rolling over on the seat to avoid spasms. Potter clings to him with his arms and legs, as if he is the only thing stopping the Hero from another magical outburst. Potter had better hold it, because Severus's skin has been burning since the entrance hall.

"What if Lestrange was crazy because she split her soul, too?" Potter whispers.

"Impossible. The Dark Lord wasn't keen on sharing his secrets. Stop being dumb, Potter," Snape snaps, and it feels like the Hero's gone limp, crushing Severus with dead weight, his breathing fast and shallow as he sobs.'.

Severus strokes Potter’s hair, enduring the new pain it sears into his skin. He raises his hand and looks closer - everything is red and covered with blisters but it's better to let the Hero wipe the snot off his coat, rather than blow up half the district with his uncontrolled magic.

Snape rubs his shoulders with the back of his hand, where the skin is less red, and says, "It's alright." Time heals, but how long do they have to wait?

"Hush," mutters Snape and shifts to run the other hand through the soft hair of Potter's nape, massaging, and this time the magic does not rage.

No child should have been hurt like Potter. Children should have never been involved. His former student calms down a bit, presses his wet face to his neck, slides his hands to his shoulders, and the death grip turns into an embrace.

Potter’s peers restore Hogwarts, finding solace in friends and family, while Potter loses control of magic, slaves away at the construction site, cries in the company of his most hated ex-professor, whom he clearly follows everywhere — Potter is not alright. 

Severus's thoughts are interrupted by soft lips and nose pressed against his cheek. Snape jerks and throws Potter off, and the young man's expression is completely insane: swollen face, and wide, blood-shot eyes accompany his rapid, hunted breathing. He surges forward, but Snape recoils and summons a calming draught from the chest, wincing at the stinging pain in his palm. He forces Potter to drink all the remaining potion in the vial, then escapes to the bedroom to find some regenerative ointment.

The skin of his hands is badly burned, and the right palm is covered with oozing blisters - as if he shoved it into an open fire. He grimaces and smears the solution onto his sore hands and the cheek that Potter's lips have touched - it also burns.

He walks into the kitchen past the Hero, who is frozen on the sofa, and takes the bottle with him. Potter is certifiable. It must be humiliating for a young man to lose control like this and try to find comfort in the first person who happens to be around. Potter was hysterical, and still Severus can't stop replaying this unsolicited moment of intimacy in his head. He feels like an unworthy criminal, having stolen that gentle moment. Potter is his personal level of hell, karmic retribution for all sins.

Heated crackling rum tastes bitter on his tongue but fills his empty stomach with warmth. He hears the creaking of springs in the living room, as Potter stands up and begins to pace back and forth, disappearing from view behind the wall, then appearing again.

Snape cools the rum with a spell and drinks from the bottle. Potter has come out of it. His face is not so red or swollen, and his eyes glisten wetly, hiding behind his glasses. Even now, Potter is stunning, and the careful Potter embrace, the weight of his strong body, the hot touch of his lips - all if it returns to his mind and seems a cruel mockery of the gods over ugly Snape.

Severus goes to the sink and washes the ointment off his hands and face, along with the peeling skin, and then keeps drinking. A pleasant fog is already forming in his head, relaxing his muscles. This is what he wanted from the evening, not Potter's tantrum, burned hands, and a sense of agonizing shame.

He takes off his coat and unbuttons the collar of his shirt, which feels uncomfortably tight and damp around his throat. Severus hears footsteps, and Potter appears in the kitchen, taking the only cup as if he owned the place, and proceeds to unceremoniously rummage around in order to fix himself some tea. The gentle curve of his Adam's apple casts a shadow on his neck under the yellow light of the electric lamp, and then Potter runs his fingers through his hair, and Severus clearly remembers how soft it is — more knowledge that he stole without asking.

His head is all muddy, and his cheek is burning from Potter's "kiss" — he will call it what he sees fit — and Potter's lips were so soft, and he wants Potter to be blind, so he would never have seen the ugliness of the former spy. If Potter were hopelessly blind, Severus would enchant his vocal cords so that he would not utter a single harsh word, and he would convey his desire with touches, comfort him even though his hands are not used to caressing - there is still a red spot on Potter's face from the slap. No, there would be no chance even in his depraved fantasies.

"Do the scars hurt?" Potter sips his tea and looks at the open neckline of his shirt.

"Not anymore," says Severus and finishes the bottle. "Feeling better, Potter? Don’t let me keep you."

"Don't I deserve the same treatment as your muggle?" The Savior raises his voice. "You were kind to him! He probably only saw the war in movies, but you treated him as if he was worthy of everything, and I'm trying to do the right thing and help, I'm turning inside out with effort, but you can't even look at me!"

Severus, too, has turned inside out, and remained so - guts out. Potter has little idea what he's talking about and it's ridiculous. Snape chuckles and carefully sets the empty bottle on the floor.

"My relationship with that muggle is not based on respect for his personality or achievements, Mr. Potter. You're not stupid enough to ignore the adult side of life, are you?" he replies, and immediately feels the heat of magic. 

The Hero loudly clinks his cup on the table and takes a step towards Severus with a murderous look. This is quite in his spirit: to follow his former professor, confess hatred, demand kindness, and then get into a muggle fight, but Potter grabs his head angrily and covers his mouth with his lips. Potter's hands are inexorable, he pulls him in, kissing everything he can reach. Snape violently recoils from the touch: his nose, mouth, eyebrows, and cheeks feel as if cauterized with hot metal, and then Potter bites his ear. This is a new kind of nightmare worthy of the Dark Lord: turning the very idea of intimacy into torture.

"You don't respect my personality and achievements, too," Potter sucks air through his teeth and growls into his face. "Why is he better?"

Snape is in the grip of his hands and can't get away, so he bends his head to his shoulder and forcefully bites the uncovered white neck above the jacket. Potter groans, twitching with his whole body, and finally pulls away. The magic heat drains from the kitchen, and the Hero looks dumbfounded at the burned face of his former teacher. Severus struggles to unhook the other's hands, grabs his coat, presses the locket into Potter's hand, and growls, "Hogsmeade!". They fall into the bushes at the Three Broomsticks, and the snow cools his inflamed skin, removing the pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely Absinthe has edited my mistakes away ♥♥♥
> 
> The characters' abuse tolerance is canonically too high. Instead there's focus on Snape's lust which doesn't turn into romantic feelings till Harry gets himself together.


	15. Chapter 15

A house elf tries to carry salamander blood to his laboratory imperceptibly, then several bundles of bitter wormwood. Snape considers it a good thing that Potter doesn't show up to apologise in person, instead only sending an elf with the ingredients for burn ointment. 

The temporary insanity of the Hero does not leave Severus's mind. The young man, who works at a construction site daily, physically has long surpassed the emaciated former spy. Potter's magic is stronger, he has public support, and he is a danger to those around him. No one must know.

The same elf brings breakfast Snape hasn't asked for and two new silver ladles, causing Severus to lose the measly few grains of patience remaining in his body. Hissing like an enraged cobra, he prohibits the elf from playing courier for Potter, and the creature is forced to obey. After all, the word of the former Hogwarts headmaster is law.

Severus got rid of the burns on his face during the night, washing off all the peeling skin along with the ointment under running water. The Hero had demanded the same treatment as Godfrey, spoken about kindness, respect and other nonsense... This marsh of teenage hormonal feelings is more trouble than it's worth. Potter is hungry for kindness and recognition - he may be looking for another paternal figure after the deaths of Black and Dumbledore. Lupin is also dead, Arthur Weasley has never been close to him, but Severus Snape, though bitter and harsh, has always been there. 

Potter hardly understands himself. He wanted kindness and tried to get it the same way Godfrey did. Be afraid of your desires, they may come true. 

If only the brat had known that his newly appointed father figure wanted to lick the evening stubble on his neck, unbutton his muggle jeans, and press the tongue to his hard cock through the fabric of his underwear. Potter wouldn’t resist, fiercely pulling off the impeding clothes to his knees, and press the aroused dark pink head to Severus's lips, pleading. He is young, it wouldn’t take much to please him. Is this what Potter was offering in exchange for kindness and recognition of personal merits? Snape is mad to think about such things.

Potter's actions don't add up.

There is silence in Snape’s rooms that follows him when he goes out into the street - deep loneliness in the middle of a crowd. Filius Flitwick has been avoiding him since his return to Hogwarts, and Poppy attacks with diagnostic spells as soon as he enters the infirmary. What did Albus do to her, that her entire forearm is covered with Unbreakable Vow rings?

He has had no one to talk to since the headmaster's death, as if the Dark Mark is constantly hovering right over his head, not allowing anyone to forget. Filius knew about the Mark from the very beginning, but always helped him in his polite manner when he was just a beginner trying to manage students. Dumbledore used to speak over and over about the purpose of a wizard's life and having faith in oneself instead of giving a piece of teaching advice, and a sudden cutting thought almost knocks Snape off his feet that perhaps there is nothing he is grateful for to the late headmaster, except for granting him asylum at Hogwarts. Good old friend, Merlin damn him. Mentor, damn it all.

The artefactologists are still dealing with the stones of the collapsed wall near the construction site, and he sees the short figure of the Charms Master with them when he comes closer. The last time Filius and he saw each other was when Severus had to leave Hogwarts. 

The obstinate half-goblin is covered in dust and waving his wand. Snape used to consider him one of the few friends who he could have a drink with on the weekends, exchange a few words between classes, and discuss the integration of potions and charms in potions brewed on the full moon. Filius found out about him spying along with the rest of wizarding world, though he may have regretted their friendship before that.

Poppy and Filius turned their backs on him, protecting the children. It means he was convincing and did everything right. It means he wasn't wrong to think about them as decent wizards, and now Severus understands that Pomfrey was tightly bound by vows, and it is unlikely that she could discuss anything with him or demand answers for the atrocities that were happening in the school because of the Carrows. However, Severus is still bitter that Flitwick never tried to talk to him. Even Potter tried to shove his unwelcome opinion into his business, accused him of only Merlin knows what, and Severus could just say, "You're a dunderhead who can't see past your own nose! Have you ever tried using your head for its intended purpose?" Potter would have immediately shut up and started demanding an explanation, he always knew that the full picture was being hidden from him.

"Severus, I'm sorry."

Snape jumps in surprise when he sees that Filius has already left the debris and come close to him. There is nothing to forgive. Severus himself did not take a single step to reconcile, so accusing another of having too much pride would be hypocritical.

"I know you turned to Minerva after the war," Flitwick continues. "I'm sorry it wasn't me."

Severus nods silently, overcome by bitter nostalgia for the old days, when Flitwick was fishing for a rare monograph on charms out of the endless bookshelves of his office, saying with a smile full of inner satisfaction, "Severus, everything has already been done for us. Just look at this study!" 

Snape nods again, despondent, and goes back to Hogsmeade, intending to spend a few meditative hours over a cauldron. Potions will soothe him, but won't give his presence at Hogwarts more sense; he is needed neither at the construction site nor in Hogsmeade. After all the articles about his sexual orientation the name of Severus Snape can't help Slytherin house to restore its former glory. What remains? Talking some sense into Potter, sealing the dungeons, and he's done. He's been postponing the ritual since the return of the Slytherins. He's a coward.

Poppy's patronus jumps in the way like a silver lightning bolt when Severus almost reaches his chambers, "I've got a consultation. Need help." He turns back to the infirmary and falls under a diagnostic spell as soon as he opens the door.

"Calm down, woman, I'm not your patient," Snape threatens her with his wand and Poppy snorts.

"I need a potion for Harry," she says, and holds out a parchment with the recipe.

He brewed something similar when he tried to remove the blocks from the aura, and the idea that Potter's problem is akin to his own affliction settles in his stomach like a stone. Prolonged stress, dark magic blood rituals, Unforgivables - there aren't many wizards who have gone through the same and survived. However, Potter never looks depressed, instead he's obsessed and filled with restless energy that he can't control — they are once again at opposite ends of the same spectrum.

Severus doesn't divert his attention from the parchment when the front door is slammed shut behind a new visitor.

"It's getting worse," Potter says from the doorway, not even bothering to greet them. "Now if I get angry or panic, people get burned by my touch."

Poppy shakes her head wearily and mumbles, "Oh, Harry, you should have come to me earlier," and Severus notices that this time Potter has finally admitted the problem. The boy will manage, Snape will brew the potion, the outbursts will cease, and Snape won't have a single good reason to stay at Hogwarts except for the ritual.

"Can I do anything about it?" asks the Hero.

"I’ve been warned about this," Poppy says. "Take off your jacket and roll up your jeans."

Potter hesitates, glances at Severus nervously, deliberately turns sideways, as if trying to hide something, and does as he's told. His torn T-shirt can't be restored, but this is the charm of youth: a dirty old man in rags will receive pity and disgust, and a grimy disheveled Potter, whose clothes have split at the seams from too many cleansing spells, stands in the middle of the room like an antique deity. Potter kissed him on the sofa, before the magic got out of control, turning the touch into torture, he pressed his lips to his cheek, and it still sounds like hallucination.

Poppy swipes her wand at his ankles, and a maroon glow lights up around Potter's legs, turning dark blue at the edges. The witch checks his wrists next, and when she goes up to his neck, Potter twitches and blushes .

"Oh, the joys of youth," says Poppy with a smile. "Shall I heal it?"

Potter shakes his head, and Severus feels numb, walking stiffly around the former student to see a bruise on the side of Potter's neck that the young man wanted to remain hidden. Purple-yellow, uneven, the size of a sickle, it stands out on the tanned skin while the Hero looks straight ahead, cheeks flushed. Snape bit him yesterday and it bruised.

If Severus could set himself alight with shame, he would do it now, he would have done it a long time ago, and Merlin damn it all. When the witch goes to the shelves for a potion, Severus uses a healing spell himself, and the Hero can't even make a sound, he only lowers his glistening green eyes to the floor.

"Apply to each ankle first, using circular motion, then to wrists and neck. Do it twice a day. It's important to cover left and right sides at the same time, so you can't do it yourself, Harry. Come either to me or to professor Snape, he sees how it is done, there is nothing complicated."

Poppy rubs his legs and arms in small circles, then quickly puts the potion on his neck, and lets him out of the office.

"Will he be alright?" asks Severus as soon as the door closes behind Potter.

"This is going to help with magical outbursts, but full control over magic will return only after a special treatment. I'm only a mediwitch, Severus."

Potter is waiting for him outside, stubborn and open. His spirit is so strong that it is hard to believe he possesses a single brain cell; no one in their right mind would voluntarily seek the company of Severus Snape.

"I apologize for the burns," Potter says firmly. 

He turns and walks away, feeling Potter's heavy gaze with his back. There is only one person who can drive him mad with apologies, and Severus wants him more than he did precocious seventh-year students in his twenties. Back then it led him to the Impotence potion; now Snape just wants to leave Hogwarts and find solace in the non-magical world. He needs to brew a potion for Potter and perform a ritual in the dungeons — all of it can be done today. He needs to deal with it as quickly as possible. Will the absence of any obligations feel as repulsive as the lack of freedom? He will leave the school on his own terms, and no one will call him a coward at his back.

His Slytherins, having wandered aimlessly round the construction site, follow him inside the castle as soon as Severus says that it is necessary to close the old Slytherin dungeons to include the new wing into the magical contour. 

"At least we'll do something, there's no place for us at the construction site," Zabini grumbles, and Daphne nudges him in the side to shut him up.

"We have to do what others wouldn't," Gemma says, frowning. "The construction of the new wing has already begun, we have collected the money, and if you think we are no longer needed here, you're free to go. The three of us and Professor Snape will be included in the History of Hogwarts without you."

"Do you want to get famous so much?" snaps Blaise.

"I want to do something worthy," says Gemma. "You won't even be remembered by posterity."

Zabini falls silent, and Severus is horrified by the idea of how he will be described in the History of Hogwarts. If he leaves now, nothing will be fixed, and escape never solves problems. Even Potter is braver than him.

They walk along the deserted Great Hall towards the Slytherin dungeons, and the closer they get, the stronger the musty smell of mold. All the magic has drained into the stones, all the spells against the dampness have unraveled. Gemma holds her nose, Zabini suggests a spell to purify the air, and as the former students wave their wands, trying to fight nausea, they reach the first flooded corridor.

Snape takes off the robe draped over his muggle clothing, leaves it floating in the air, conjures a water-repellent spell, and steps into the dirty water. Slytherins look at each other in disgust, but cast the same spell obediently and go after the former Head-of-House. They descend several steps down and find themselves waist-deep in the stone-heated water. The staircase leading to the Slytherin living room, and then to the former Head-of-House chambers and the laboratory are further down the corridor.

The stones here shine dimly, and the entrance to the stairs is quite dark, as if everything beyond is dead. They make their way in the gloom, struggling through the water that reaches empty frames of portraits, where the wood has delaminated, devoid of magic.

Severus takes a small knife from his pocket, cuts his palm open, then goes to the stairs and draws a sealing rune on the wall.

"Tap the rune with your wands," he instructs, and the Slytherins come toward him with loud splashes echoing off the walls.

Magic rushes to the rune quickly; he does not even have time to heal the cut, as his hands grow numb. The half-submerged passage to the stairs is illuminated by magical flashes so bright that the light shines through the muddy water. Snape gestures to move away, and the Slytherins see the passage slowly shifts.

Years ago, when he assumed the position of Head of Slytherin House, he never imagined that Dumbledore's instructions would ever be used. The passage closes like a wound, and at some point it disappears completely. The lights go out, plunging the corridor into utter darkness.

"I can't feel my arms," Zabini whispers.

"Me neither," says Gemma.

Daphne manages a weak _Lumos_, and they look at the wall that now stands in the place of the stairs once leading to the dungeons.

"Can anyone drain the corridor?" Snape asks, and Pike readily waves his wand, letting the water flow through the rocks, and then leans back against the wall as if about to faint. A careless poser who has overestimated his strength. The water-repellent spells disappeared as soon as their magic rushed to the rune, and streams of warm dirt flow down their clothing.

Daphne approaches the sealed passage, squelching her shoes wetly, and touches the stones in disbelief.

"Our common room was better than the Ravenclaw's anyway," Pike says hoarsely.

"We had the Giant Squid," nods Zabini.

"We had the portrait of Rufus Gaunt, and he was the best chess player I've ever known," adds Daphne in a choked voice, and Snape intervenes before everything turns to tears.

"Miss Greengrass," he says irritably, "Pull yourself together. The Giant Squid is still in the lake, the portraits escaped to the library vaults. You stupid girl, are you going to cry over the draughts?"

This is not the right place or time to indulge in nostalgia. They are wet, barely able to stand on their feet. The smell in the air quickly becomes nauseating without a purifying spell. Severus refuses to feel the dreary bitterness associated with the dungeons — it's just stones and memory. It's not the human lives or betrayal that has poisoned his entire life, it's just a grain of sand in the ocean of his regrets.

They return through the construction site wet and exhausted, and Severus barely manages to stick his numb arms into the dirty robe that fell to the floor of the corridor, losing the support of the spell. Workers and former students look at them warily, but don't approach. Only a soft wave of quick-drying and cleansing charms envelops them like gentle Potter's embrace. Severus's hand tingles from a healing spell, and he glares at the Hero, who is surrounded by books and staring glassy-eyed at the table. He doesn’t even pretend to be reading. The hand that steals becomes the hand that heals, Potter, his personal demiurge, is everywhere. All roads lead to Potter, wherever he goes. 

Snape lies on the bed of his chambers until the late evening; his magic and his hands are useless today. When Potter knocks on the door and asks to come in, Severus ignores him for a full minute until the obnoxious former student says,

"I need to apply the potion. Madam Pomfrey is in London, she won't be back until tomorrow, and I can't miss a treatment. Please."

Snape opens the door and Potter shoves the vial, which he almost drops, into his numb hands and goes into the study. Taking off his jacket, he conjures a chair, rolls up his jeans, and pulls off his shoes. When the former Potions professor sits down on the old sofa, Potter silently puts his damp, bare foot in his lap.

Severus remembers the circular motions and rubs Potter's right ankle with difficulty, trying to control his hands, but the potion affects him, too - the numbness slowly recedes. When he moves to his left ankle, he feels Potter's heavy stare, and almost wants to snap at him to close his eyes or turn away. He smells like soap, so different from his usual smell of sweaty, healthy, male body. He's exchanged the torn T-shirt for a new one and even combed his hair, which makes his proximity feel unacceptably intimate.

"You're not angry," the Hero says, and Severus squeezes his leg until it hurts, and the young man twitches, trying to get away from the touch. "I mean, you're not livid," he corrects, and Snape unclenches his fingers with difficulty.

He's not livid, he's terrified of himself. The less Potter says, the better. When Severus moves to his wrists and then to his neck, he feels goosebumps on Potter's skin, sees the young man's eyes slowly closing, and it's unbearable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absinthe is my faithful and wonderful editor ♥ ♥ ♥
> 
> Thank you for your comments! There are five more chapters till the end, so stay tuned! :)


	16. Chapter 16

In Snape’s nightmares the wall of the half-flooded Slytherin common room closes right in front of him, cutting him off from the rest of the world and leaving a choice between a quick or slow death. In the morning, the cheerful Hero shows up on his doorstep and invites him to breakfast. Severus slams the door right in Potter's face.

The hair-drying spell comes out weak, and when Severus goes outside, his warming spell fails to keep the frosty air at bay. He finds the Slytherins in their tent camp behind the construction site, playing chess dejectedly, pale, with bluish shadows under their eyes. Severus should have stayed with them after sealing the dungeons, and the thought stings inside his temple. Children should have never been harmed.

"Professor Snape," Pike waves wearily. "Do you know if Madam Pomfrey has returned? We tried to find her yesterday, but the infirmary was closed. Headmistress McGonagall had a restorative potion, but it didn't help much."

"We feel tired, the simplest spells don't work, and we slept terribly," Gemma grumbles. "Daphne had nightmares."

Unlike Potter, his responsible snakes don't hide their state.

"Get ready," says Severus. "If Madam Pomfrey hasn't returned yet, I'll give you some of my potions."

Pike and Blaise stand up, straightening their robes, and the girls return to their tent to make themselves presentable. Daphne barely drags her feet, and Severus thinks she's about to faint.

They walk to Hogsmeade in silence, like a slow and dreary camel caravan. Madam Pomfrey is thankfully already in the infirmary. She gives everyone two drops of enhanced formula of the Restorative potion and some healing tinctures. When they step out of the door to return back, a group of Gryffindors, led by the youngest Weasley, blocks their way.

The redhead is covered in dust, and her hair is like copper carved in mud.

"Your presence bothers everyone," she says. "You Slytherins have done enough."

The girl has done too little, and has the audacity to order others around. Weasley has always been an idiot, but at least she used to be too shy to open her mouth. 

"I suppose you're sure your presence helps everyone, is that right, Miss Weasley? You're just hauling stones and mortar for the builders," Severus replies dispassionately.

"You don't carry anything at all. Why are you here?"

The road is deserted, everything is covered with snow, and Ginevra seems to sense someone else's weakness like a predator.

"I was personally invited by headmistress McGonagall. The former students of my house arrived voluntarily, just like you did, and are now participating in the rebuilding of the school."

"No, they aren't," She-Weasley hisses angrily, and her Gryffindor henchmen agree. All of them were in the sixth year when he was a headmaster, the brave partisans who did their worst to ruin his life.

"Your ignorance surpasses your lack of manners," Severus replies coldly, and watches her hand as it grabs her wand. If Weasley decides to curse them, they won't have enough strength to counter or use protective spells, and they're too exhausted and slow to dodge. His Slytherins are quiet and don't raise to the bait — smart and cautious little snakes.

Severus takes a step to the left to shield Daphne and Gemma, and Pike stands next to him. Gryffindor boys wouldn't dare to attack girls unprovoked. However, Gryffindor girls would. Weasley seems to target him personally.

"Your former students have been loitering around the construction site, and before that, all year long, they just watched the Carrows torture us! You did too!" Weasley's face is covered in an angry red blush, and Severus feels sick just looking at her.

"If you were smarter and didn't get into trouble, we wouldn't have been forced to watch. You were distracting me from trying to help Potter — what exactly were you trying to do? If not for the Carrows, the Dark Lord could have sent Greyback or Bellatrix to rein in rebellious students. You've met Bellatrix Lestrange, Miss Weasley."

"They tortured kids," interrupts another Gryffindor girl, and Severus feels so sick that he doesn't even recognize her. Merlin as a witness, he would have taken all the tortures himself without hesitation, but back then he had to choose between greater and lesser evils, and only Albus would have supported him in this decision.

"All Slytherins evacuated before the Final battle as cowards," continues Weasley.

"All of us?!" Daphne shouts angrily, and Severus has never heard such a tone from his usually friendly and soft snake. 

Weasley purses her lips and twitches when someone else's voice reaches them,

"Professor has been helping us."

George Weasley saunters to them in a rumpled, dirty robe. His short haircut reveals the stump of an ear, and Severus jerks involuntarily.

"Fred wouldn't have forgiven so quickly!" the redhead accuses her brother, and Snape expects an acute reaction to his twin's name, but George remains detached.

"Fred forgave Professor Snape for my ear before I did, he got it after he saw the memory of that night. He just wasn't used to sharing his thoughts with the sister, who always told mom on us," he replies, and the Weasley girl begins to cry, choking on tears.

Pike takes Daphne by the shoulders and leads her to the castle. The brave Gryffindors side-eye both Weasleys in confusion even as they disperse to avoid the family feud. Blaise and Gemma look into his face with a silent question, and Severus weakly waves in the direction of the school,

"Go."

His warming spell completely fades, leaving his feet cold under his robe. Severus steps away and tries to fight the dizziness by bending over and putting his hands on his knees. He should have dressed warmer, rather than spend magic on everyday charms.

"My dear little sister, did you come here to help Harry or to get back at him?" the Weasley twin asks. "You should have stayed at home with mom and dad. Harry has to figure it out for himself."

"I didn't do anything wrong," sobs Ginevra. "I didn't ask for anything! I supported him, why did he act like that? Why even think about marriage at our age? I didn't ask him to marry me, _he_ asked and changed his mind!"

Weasley hugs his sister, and for the first time Severus almost feels sorry for her, because no matter how small-minded, rude, and vain she is, Ginevra is still too young. She is his former student, who, if it weren't for the war, would be in her seventh year now. Who was wise in their youth? Lucius made mistakes, even Dumbledore.

"I don't think Harry knows what he wants right now. And you... actually, you cried in front of him all summer," George replies with warmth and patience, as if talking to one mentally challenged person about another one.

"So he thought marriage would cheer me up?! I love him! I want to help, but he's changed - it's like he feels sick from the sight of me."

"Come back to the Burrow, Ginny," says Weasley, and his sister howls, burying her dirty hair in his similarly smeared robe. "You can't make him accept your help, but you can do something for yourself and the family. It's not good for you here and the Slytherins are not to blame."

"I'll come back with you," Ginevra breathes, and for the first time George does something that reminds Severus of him in his school days: he pretends not to hear, puts his hand to the stump of his ear, and asks:

"What was that? What's "gome bag wiya"? Did you manage to get drunk without your elder brother?" and She-Weasley pummels him with her hands as he mockingly searches the pockets of her robe for bottles.

Severus wonders what happens to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes when the owner is at Hogwarts 24/7. He straightens up with difficulty and hobbles towards the castle; he needs to make sure that his snakes are alright, and then he'll hide in his small rooms, drowning in nausea and loneliness. Severus envies the Weasley clan — how did he get here? - they always have someone to rely on, and that must be nice, even if there are women like Molly and her daughter in the family.

When he walks round the construction site, his cold feet warm up, and a heavy stare presses down on him like a duvet.

"Mr. Potter, stop it. You'll burn a hole in me with such a gaze," says Severus without looking around.

He is a hole in place of a man, and everything passes through him, draining like water through a sieve. His magic flows away, too, dripping from his fingers. Soon he'll be squeezed dry. He is so ill that he will probably have to go to Poppy.

He hardly remembers what happened next: the mediwitch scolds him like a first-year student, rubs the same potion that she gave Potter into his limbs, puts him under a sleeping spell treacherously. When he wakes the next morning, he escapes from the infirmary, feeling exhausting emptiness inside, as if the vacuum of his soul wants to devour him whole.

He endures another torment from irritated Poppy, who immediately pursues him, accepts thanks for the sealed dungeons from Minerva, agrees to whatever tasks she has for him, checks on his Slytherins who are still pale, but surround the French builders resolutely. He sends an owl with a list of ingredients to his supplier, reaches the Three Broomsticks, orders a whole bottle of crackling rum, sits down in the farthest darkest corner and drinks until the detached mood lifts from his chest.

Then Snape looks away from the bottle and sees Potter, his split eyebrow, swollen red eye already turning blue, and a busted lower lip.

"Would you share?" Potter asks hoarsely and nods at the crackling rum, falling into the chair opposite him.

"Why aren't you at the construction site?" asks Severus. He was empty this morning, didn't feel any sadness or guilt — pure nothing - and now he's full to the brim, the sight of chewed-up Potter making his stomach twist.

"I'm not welcome there right now," the former student shrugs and conjures a glass.

Snape pushes the last drops of his magic into a healing spell, his hands growing numb again, but it's still not enough: Potter's eye becomes less swollen, the lip stops bleeding, and the cut above the eyebrow scars. He would have done more, healed him so there wouldn't be any trace left, but he doesn't have enough magic even for a weak _Lumos_.

"I had a fight with the Bulgarians," Potter finally breaks the silence, answering Snape's unasked question, and the former Potions professor freezes. "George and I have held a grudge against them since they started experimenting with the protective circuit behind our backs. George was kicked out of the construction site too, he cursed them."

Potter pours himself some rum and swallows it in one gulp. His neck is clean, untouched by bruises and abrasions, so mature and strong. Snape can't stop looking, his own skin feels too small for his body, stretched to the limit. He would like to give Potter a lot, allow himself more, but he is unable to - physically and mentally - just as he can't fully heal the scar above Potter's eyebrow. The Hero is sitting in front of him open and defenseless, and it's completely beyond his capabilities, so Severus can only watch, tormented by filthy desires.

"Very few know the reason why the wall collapsed. Aurors, the professors, George and I,” says Potter. “If everybody else found out, neither Dimitar nor Vasil would be allowed to stay here, because every stone counts. You know Fred died under a collapsed wall, so George freaked out. As for me… I found out that you were unharmed only thirty minutes later."

Potter sighs, pours himself more rum and steals glances at silent Snape.

"What should I do if I'm afraid to ask something important, knowing for sure that I'll be rejected?" he utters suddenly, and Severus answers without thinking,

"Save yourself the embarrassment and forget about it."

"Sometimes I think I have a chance."

"There's always a cause of rejection, Mr. Potter. What you might consider a far-fetched excuse is the only possible truth for someone else," continues Severus. "If you know that something is impossible, yet you are still going to ask, where then is your pride and dignity?"

Potter purses his lips, drains the glass, and clarifies,

"So there is no chance."

"I don't possess imagination vivid enough to guess what you're talking about, Mr. Potter. If you know that you'll be rejected, man up and behave like an adult for once. Nothing depends on your wishes."

Potter reaches for the bottle silently, so young and looking for opportunities. It's unlikely that he'll give up hope for something that will be denied to him, because he is young, and Severus was just like him once. Now his own wishes are filthy, and he knows that nothing has ever depended on him. His pride is all that is left. Potter looks good when he's sad, his eyes especially bright, and, dear Merlin, it's a shame that Severus doesn't have the right to touch.

"Why did you come here?" Snape asks hoarsely, and his voice is so low that it sounds foreign.

Potter looks at him without blinking, and then averts his eyes.

"Sorry for interruption, Professor," he says, standing up awkwardly.

Snape's fingers don't obey as he tries to cork the bottle. Severus wouldn't be able to fall asleep without a sleeping draught anyway, and the memory of Potter's heavily hunched back doesn't allow him to rest when he takes the Sobering-Up. He goes from the Three Broomsticks to his rooms, where he finds the recipe for Potter on his desk.

If Severus brews, he only thinks about potions, and four hours over the cauldron give him the kind of peace no alcohol does. His back cramps as he straightens up, so he trudges into his bedroom and collapses on the bed, trying to get comfortable enough to ease the spasm.

Potter. Potter got into a fight with the Bulgarians - it's something mind-blowing. Severus turns to his side and imagines his former student punching the insolent face of the head of the Bulgarian group, the one who experimented on their walls, who knows nothing about decency and respect for another culture, who takes off his T-shirt and walks around the construction site half-naked — no former student would allow themselves such obscenity. The Bulgarians infuriate Severus with their mere presence, and Potter tells him, wiping the blood from his split lip, "To be honest, I don't like them either." Snape hates the Bulgarians and wants Potter so much with all his heavy stares, holey T-shirts, disheveled hair, and that stupid puffy jacket.

When Potter kisses him, Severus wakes up, panting, then falls out of the bed to find a sleeping draught - summoning the vial with his magic would be impossible now.

The first stage of the potion will be finished in two days, and the next morning — before Snape can force himself to get dressed and go to the construction site to check on his little snakes - a patronus from the headmistress jumps on his shoulder,

"Severus, today is a day off for everybody. George Weasley told me about the situation with the Slytherins, and after that he and Harry had a conflict with the Bulgarians. We need everyone to unwind, and we will make a schedule for the former students so that they won’t be allowed to help at the construction site every day, as they do now. In the evening, Mr. Weasley is doing to organize dances. We hope that this will reduce the tension."

Albus would have never allowed the situation to reach this point, but none of them can replace Albus, whether for good or bad.

When Severus steps away from the cauldron with the Sobering-Up, it's already getting dark, so he gets dressed and hurries to the construction site. Some students will definitely bring alcohol, and there may be clashes with the Slytherins. His snakes are too weak after the ritual, so is Snape, but his authority as a former professor, headmaster, and spy might be of use.

Bright, enchanted lanterns fly over the clearing next to the construction site, where it's neither too hot, nor too cold. Severus hears former students discuss fireworks that George Weasley promised to bring from his shop, then looks around, but doesn't see the redhead twin or his sister.

A wooden table, brought from the construction site, is now filled with snacks. The youngsters found magically modified muggle radios, and Severus doesn't recognize a single song. All he clearly remembers from muggle music is "Ain't no mountain high enough", which Lily adored. Several former pure-blood students look just as confused.

He sits down at an empty corner of the table, and his faithful snakes are immediately next to him, dressed up as if for a ball.

"Professor Snape!" Daphne calls happily. "We arranged to help the French builders with the new Slytherin wing!"

"How are you?"

"Better! Madam Pomfrey was very helpful," Gemma nods. "Now I can finally get some sleep instead of wiping away a certain someone's tears half the night."

"I can't control my nightmares," Daphne snaps, and the girls leave to join a small group of Ravenclaws standing nearby. Women can hardly be seen as enemies, so it's easier for them.

Pike and Zabini stay. They sit down next to him, and Blaise pulls two bottles of ale out of the pocket of his robe, calls for a house elf to bring them glasses, and says firmly,

"Professor Snape, we all deserve it, don’t we?"

His Slytherins have come to help, and their former classmates are hounding them out of the construction site. They really deserve to rest and have some fun, so he pointedly looks the other way while Pike uncorks the first bottle. This is the time for the young, Severus has no place in it, but Pike fills a glass for him anyway. 

"A Ravenclaw turned me down. She's a muggle-born and older than me!" Zabini is indignant.

"That's because she's smart and doesn't care for your last name. I'd turn you down, too," says Pike reassuringly, and they drink to women stupid enough to pay attention to the likes of them.

The sky gets completely dark, the muggle music doesn't get better, but, as promised by George Weasley, occasionally everything's illuminated by the sparkling shots of fireworks, and Snape knows for sure that the redhead poser saved the most spectacular spectacle for last.

Zabini is a little tipsy, but Pike is dangerously drunk, having switched to the family cognac a few glasses ago. His mood becomes worse as he sees a smart-looking Daphne Greengrass trying to persuade some Hufflepuff into coloring the lanterns green. Severus has several vials of the Sobering-Up in his pocket, and he wonders whether it's time to offer the potion to Pike or send him to his tent to sleep it off.

When a surly-looking Potter sits down at the table, Zabini shoves Snape's untouched glass to him.

"She just doesn't like me," says Pike. "My family has money and connections, I'm not ugly, she just doesn't like me. She likes anyone else better than me. She's never liked me. I thought I’d have a chance when school was over. After everything that's happened this year, I'm a changed man. But I still feel like a fool with her, Potter, do you get it?"

Potter's face darkens even more and he grabs his glass.

"To reciprocity," says Pike.

"Potter, your redhead set all the Gryffindors on us, so we're non-grata at the main construction site. Doesn't every wand count at Hogwarts?" Zabini asks in a deliberately amiable tone.

"I'll deal with her," Potter snaps, and drinks his ale, then helps pour more, ignoring the former professor.

It's too warm from the stones for Severus to feel the heat of an outburst, but he senses Potter's familiar magic and immediately reaches out to prevent the former students from taking their glasses.

"Enough for today," he says to Zabini and Pike. "Either go to bed or take the Sobering-Up. You don't take the chance to reconnect with other houses, Miss Farley and Miss Greengrass are more far-sighted than you are.”

"I'll go then," Pike says stubbornly. "Don't want to see her."

Zabini takes the Sobering-Up, and Potter remains seated, staring into his glass. When the Slytherins leave them, Snape says,

"Mr. Potter, you can't drink until you've dealt with your magical outbursts."

Severus hesitates to say anything else, because the former student is unpredictable.

"Do you hear me?"

Potter takes all the responsibility that does not belong to him, and stubbornly refuses to take his own. Severus wants to hurt him, shake him till he wakes up and stops risking the safety of his own and others. Potter is dangerous, and Severus is out of his mind, because part of his cruel desire is based on the fact that to crush Potter with his bare hands, he needs to touch him first.

The Hero is destined to become as pompous and superficial as his father and godfather, yet he reminds Severus of himself at a younger age. Potter keeps trying, silently throws himself into work in an attempt not to think, and any inaction leads to memories that Potter drowns in alcohol. Has something happened to make his former student so upset? Snape feels heavy in his chest from irritation coupled with worry.

It's getting hotter, the glass is steaming up, and Severus grabs Potter's shoulder hard, barking,

"Control yourself! You can hurt someone!"

Potter tenses, slowly turns his head, and Severus falls into his memories, sees Sirius Black falling through the arch, the face of Ginevra Weasley with a red nose and tear-stained eyes here, against the bright lights in the sky, who says, "I'm returning home, Harry," and Potter feels so relieved that he's ashamed of it.

He sees the cafe where Severus lets Godfrey take his hand, and then he sees himself in the small kitchen of his London apartment, so thin and pitiful but not to Potter. "You're not stupid enough to ignore the adult side of life, are you?" he says, and Potter kisses him in response to the taunt. Potter's memories are not tinged with pain, only with searing jealousy, and Potter wants to leave-his-marks-on-him-so-the-damn-muggle-would-never-dare, because Potter can no longer ignore anything.

The Hero looks away, and Severus feels the tide of Potter's magic turning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absinthe is still the one with magical editor skills ♥♥♥
> 
> Thank you for your comments, they make my day!


	17. Chapter 17

Miss Bennett passes the list of potions Severus thoughtlessly agreed on brewing in a moment of weakness, then the Ravenclaw informs him that Ginevra Weasley has finally left the construction site.

"She was walking around so annoyed. What exactly did Harry see in her? She left him, and he still can't look at anyone except her. He just works all the time. The Bulgarians here, McGonagall there," Lilith adds, and Severus sighs, wondering how many girls like Miss Bennett get on Potter's nerves if he chooses to hide behind the backs of the artefactologists and the headmistress. The Gryffindor manages to be recklessly bold, yet so timid when it comes to rejecting amorous young ladies.

An interview with Harry Potter, published in the Prophet, completely spoils the hopeful mood of the Ravenclaw and many enamored witches.

_. . .  
**H.P.:**  
Ginny has always supported me, and she is not used to being targeted due to false rumours. Some of the letters she received were cursed.  
**Rita:**  
Dear Merlin, it must have been frightening for such a young and impressionable girl!  
**H.P.:**  
Yes, being my girlfriend turned out to be a risk for her I wasn't ready to take. However, she and I still remain close friends.  
**Rita:**  
So, Harry, is your heart free now?  
**H.P.:**  
Until the public interest subsides, the topic of relationships is closed to me. Now I'm helping at Hogwarts, and if any of the readers want to make a donation, they can do it in Gringotts.  
**Rita:**  
I am sure that many young witches aren't afraid of the public interest and can stand up for themselves. How can they get your attention, Harry?  
**H.P. looks embarrassed and rubs his famous lightning scar:**  
I avoid persistent girls, I like modest and smart ones. I'd like to win over a person.  
**Rita:**  
Oh, no! Modern witches are active and bold, don't you find that attractive?  
**H.P.:**  
My friends really like such traits, but I'm old-fashioned. When I like somebody, I want to be the one to take first steps.  
. . ._

Potter is trying to protect everyone around him and at the same time clumsily rejects persistent female attention — predictably, only Longbottom would believe this nonsense.

Frustrated Lilith Bennett returns with a group of Bulgarians, and they use a translation spell to explain what they need from the potion for the protective circuit, hand him an old recipe that needs to be adapted for local plants, and then leave under his dirty gaze.

The potion is not easy, but it's a worthy challenge, so when someone knocks, Severus doesn't even think about stepping away from the cauldron — he just waves his wand and hears the door creak open. 

"Hello, Professor Snape!" greets Potter, and Severus is not surprised that, having evaporated from his head for several hours, the Gryffindor returns in person. "I've brought some books we got the original recipe from, and here are Professor Sprout's recommendations. Vasil's just got back from London, so we couldn't give these to you right away.”

Snape nods, stirs the potion ten times counterclockwise, reduces the heat, and starts counting again. He hears Potter put the books on the table, but he doesn't leave, and Severus crushes the urge to turn around.

"Do you think about potions when you call a patronus?" asks Potter.

"What makes you think so?"

"The memories must be completely happy, there can’t be any regrets," Potter hesitates and confesses without waiting for an answer. "For me, it's the moment when Hagrid brought me a letter from Hogwarts."

Severus glances at the clock and turns — Potter looks just like a boy in his muggle puffy jacket, flushed pink from the cold, which makes the desire that has been filling Snape turn into self-loathing.

"It's hard to believe you've never regretted it," he notes.

"I don't regret it now," Potter avoids a straight answer, but his face changes subtly, as if he remembers the very day of the first miracle in his life. Severus's heart skips a beat at his gentle expression — his personal shameful weakness which pulls him to Potter like a magnet.

"If you do me a little personal favor," the Gryffindor says, "I'll tell you who stole the boomslang skin in my second year."

"You did," the potioneer glances at the clock and reduces the heat even more.

Potter says nothing in response, and Severus can't stand it,

"What kind of a favour?"

"Nothing complicated."

"Mr. Potter, I've owed too many personal favours in my life without knowing for sure what's behind them. You were a witness to what came out of them," there's no venom in his words. That's what Potter does to him.

Novels warned that one would want to serve the object of one’s desire, become a willing slave to another person's whims and moods, but who in their right mind would believe that? Severus is beginning to believe it now. He is an Occlumency Master, he has devoted half his life to not thinking about certain things and thinking about others, to deceive himself in order to deceive the enemy, but now, like a loyal subject of his ruler, Snape is reading Potter's face to guess if he is happy. He is willing to work like a dog so that the foolish Hero wouldn't be caught by the consequences of his own stupidity.

"Don't you trust me?" asks Potter, and, dear Merlin, Severus believes that Potter has no nefarious motives, but their relationship is far too dubious even without any personal favours.

"You are being childish."

Potter smiles, like a fisherman who sees water circles radiating from a float,

"Aren't you interested?"

"Tell me who stole it," Snape demands stubbornly.

"Will you do me a favour?"

"I refuse to make a formal promise. Who did it?"

"Hermione."

"That little shit," Snape blurts out, and Potter chokes on air, and then laughs loudly. His potion was spoilt back then, and Potter is laughing so hard that his ruddy face blushes even more. Severus' heart almost jumps out of his chest. 

"What kind of a favour?" he finally asks.

"Call me Harry."

"No," answers Snape, and Potter's smile fades.

"May I call you Severus?"

"No.”

He can't allow such familiarity; it's indecent for a professor - it's wrong. They need distance. And if they both have some sense, they will never discuss that one time Potter lost his mind enough to kiss him, or that Snape has gone completely mad because he wanted such intimacy from his former student, the son of his friend and the man he hated, a boy twenty years younger.

"You realise I care about you, don't you?" Potter asks, and how presumptuous it was to dream that the shameful moment would be silently buried between them.

The Gryffindor has some courage but does not abuse words like "love" in an attempt to seem more mature than he really is. Severus has been doomed since the first kiss. He knew that sooner or later Potter would dare to do it, however, his own reaction is unexpectedly acute. He feels it in his bones. He is deafened, as if there was a vain hope inside that thunder after lightning wouldn't come crashing down on his head.

This is wrong. Snape's attention is more cruel than indifference. He wants to say something rude, disgusting, that will forever turn Potter from him for his own good, but he can't bring himself to be heartless. Severus is grateful that he no longer feels like an outcast who doesn't deserve to be liked. This is the only confession in his entire life, and despite Potter being completely crazy, he would be upset if he hears poisonous words, so Severus should reject him as gently as he can - in gratitude for his feelings.

"Potter..." Snape says quietly, and his tone can't be interpreted the wrong way.

"I understand," Potter nods jerkily and purses his lips.

"It is a bad idea for a young man like yourself to be close with someone like me."

Potter's eyes glisten wetly, but he's a handsome young wizard with his whole life ahead of him. A relationship with an old, nasty former spy can ruin a lot, if not everything. George Weasley was right: Potter doesn't know what he wants, and when he comes to his senses, he'll change his mind, just like with the Weasley girl.

"You looked at me the day the stones lit up, and back then in the kitchen, in a way that I thought - " Potter stammers, then shakes his head. "I understand. I have to go, Professor."

Potter doesn't wait for an answer, his face is tense and maybe even hunted, and for the first time since Severus' return to Hogwarts, the Hero looks as if he would prefer to be anywhere but next to the former Potions professor. He lowers his head, and says a strangled goodbye, leaving Snape knee-deep in regret.

Potter cares about him, and Severus cannot become the scumbag who would greedily accept the gift of his affection. Potter is young, driven by romantic illusions, and Snape is an adult wizard who has been turning a blind eye to the intimate side of life for too long. Now his body is out of control, desiring the only person who finds his company acceptable.

He doesn't see Potter at the construction site in the evening, and several volumes on Herbology are brought to him by a house elf. There is no trace of Potter; he has been absent for days, but the familiar disheveled black hair and puffy jacket are constantly flashing on the periphery of Snape's vision, an illusion of his inflamed fantasies. Would Potter leave Hogwarts because of the rejection? When Severus asks Lilith about the Hero, she shrugs,

"Harry? He is working with Professor Sprout on plants for the protective circuit."

McGonagall asks him to join Pomona, Filius, the artefactologists, and Potter, who chooses a sit in the farthest corner behind the Bulgarians, and doesn't even look in his direction. Potter avoids him, and Snape should be happy with this outcome, but he feels poisoned as if by a slow-acting venom instead. It was right to reject him, and soon the attraction to his former professor will become only a shameful memory for Potter, which Severus would never remind him of.

Severus returns to his chambers, conjures a sofa in the laboratory, and hovers over a cauldron, throwing himself into work. This is how he survived many years: experiments, new knowledge, a miracle in a cauldron, and thoughts of nothing but the subtle and dangerous art of potion-making. He chastises an elf, who brings stew, for cutting the ingredients too thick. He dreams about stirring soup five times clockwise to make it more salty. He washes the standard #5 cauldron only at an even hour - the insanity inside his head always helped him cope with the madness outside. He doesn't think about Potter, but he sometimes sees short, black hair floating in a dark brown vial with another version of the potion, but this is only a reflection of the ladle hanging on the hook.

House elves provide the necessities and when the trial sample of the potion is ready, Severus is horrified to look in a mirror: his hair and skin are smeared with soot, his stubble has visible gray hair, he reeks of smoke. He easily forgoes everything when he brews potions, but at least he used to have teaching breaks. This time nothing stopped him, and only an elf irritated him into eating. Snape kneads his cramped muscles, sends the sample to Pomona, and goes to the bathroom.

His bedroom welcomes him when he's already wet and clean, and suddenly he notices several solemnly decorated boxes by the bed. He’s missed Christmas.

Severus takes his wand, applies a basic scanning charm, and unwraps traditional licorice snaps from Minerva, books from Poppy, Filius, and Pomona, and a red ink bottle "from G. Weasley for a merry Christmas." Mr. Weasley may well have made his gift explosive or cursed, and Snape enchants a protective cocoon around the bottle. The Slytherins put a Madam Malkin's shop certificate for one winter robe in a bright envelope. The last and largest box reveals some creature's bones, and his hands grow cold.

"Basilisk ribs" is written on the note, and Snape's hands get even colder.

It's from Potter. Only an idiot like him could put the bones in a box without cleaning them first.

Severus washes the ribs carefully, puts them in a special solution, and only then can breathe out. He hasn't prepared any gifts in return — a big mistake for a person who would like to reconcile with Filius, remain in Poppy's good graces and maintain the loyalty of the headmistress and Slytherins. Of course, he can't stay indebted to Potter: it looks like a kind of a Gryffindor apology for everything that happened between them. Only a thoughtless idiot could freely give almost fifty thousand galleons — this ingredient is worth every knut. Severus can't bring himself to return the gift: he dared not dream of such a treasure, and Potter will simply throw the bones away - a blasphemous waste.

Snape takes another look at the torn wrapping paper. Basilisk's ribs — that's crazy. Potter. Potter, who accepted the rejection with respect, as a man, not a green impulsive brat. It's not shameful to want this Potter and, Merlin as a witness, it’s almost all that Severus has been doing lately outside his laboratory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absinthe has done her editing magic, so there is a new chapter! :)


	18. Chapter 18

Severus clearly remembers his lonely Christmas of the previous year and he goes to London for a belated shopping trip in hope that this time - when he’s not despised by his colleagues - no one is offended by his forgetfulness. He would like to renew his friendship with Flitwick, and the Charms Master would understand his silent step towards reconciliation if it's done correctly. A return gesture to the Weasley twin would be a good idea, but without knowing for sure what the catch is, Severus can't plan a response.

He wanders through the shops of Diagon Alley, looking around aimlessly. He comes across a dark-grey, velvet bow-tie that Filius might like, puts galleons on the counter without thinking, gathers some owl mail shopping catalogs on his way back, and returns to Hogsmeade.

Severus checks Weasley's ink for explosives and curses with paranoid care, dips a quill into the bottle, and the drop that gathers at the tip turns out to be bright pink, like a mockery after the scandalous articles about the former professor's orientation. After ten seconds, the color of the test stroke changes to Slytherin green, apparently, this is a very Weasley way of calling him a Slytherin poofter. The gift lacks malice, so Weasley has indeed forgiven him for the loss of his ear.

Snape looks through shopping catalogs, fills out an order form for hair dye under a screaming title "From red to ACID-HELLFIRE red! Step up your REDHAIR game!" and adds in a P.S. that the package needs to be delivered to a certain George Weasley. Severus doesn't write "Mr. Weasley, I'd be disappointed if you changed" in the accompanying note, just his initials, and then returns to the lab.

He spends a couple of days over the cauldron, asks a house elf to deliver dark vials to Minerva, Poppy, Pomona, and Potter, and a small wooden box to Filius, along with his apologies.

The elf brings back a note,

_"Dear Severus,  
Harry warned us that you were working around the clock on the protective circuit potion, so there's nothing to apologize for. We all want the school to open its doors next year.  
I confess that I am so deep in construction dust that I haven't worn ties for a long time, and I will be happy to wear your gift for New Year's dinner.  
I hope you also like that monograph.  
With gratitude and best wishes,  
Filius”_

There are few people left in Snape's life who can tolerate his character, and he is relieved that Flitwick is still one of them. Severus falls into the transfigured sofa and exhales noisily. His back and neck ache, but his head is blissfully empty.

He spent an extra six hours trying to give Potter's Dreamless Sleep potion a nice peppermint flavor, and Snape knows for sure that Potter won't appreciate his efforts, as he isn't even able to imagine the real value of his own gift. Severus glances at the note again, catches the name of the Hero, and calls Potter's house elf with a bad feeling.

"Harry Potter is so kind, he doesn't want Professor Snape to get sick!" proudly squeaks the elf. "Harry Potter told Tinky to bring food and report to him if Professor Snape felt unwell!"

"I forbid you to report my condition to Harry Potter," he says wearily. "No more Harry Potter in my life."

The elf bows and disappears with a pop before Severus has time to ask when exactly the much-vaunted Hero decided to become a babysitter to his former professor.

If Potter unleashed his elf on him after they had cleared things up...the Gryffindor said he understood everything, but he could lie and still hold hope for something. Potter feels the need to save someone, and it might not be related to the kind of "caring" he feels. Potter dared to confess his feelings and disappear after the rejection, yet he has remained closer than anyone in Snape's squalid life. Severus grits his teeth. He doesn't understand what's going on in that bespectacled head, and he's unable to distract himself, no matter how hard he tries. Potter is important, and the avid desire to simultaneously maintain his affection and distance between them is getting stronger.

The streets are windy and so white it hurts his eyes; Hogwarts shines in the distance like a hot oasis in the middle of a snowy desert. Severus goes to the construction site. There are few people there - everyone has left to spend the holidays with their families. The Slytherin camp is deserted, and Snape returns to his rooms, sends a list of ingredients to his supplier, changes clothes to muggle ones, carefully puts the last vial into his pocket, and reaches for the portkey to London.

Mrs. Yates is always happy to see him; she gives him a box of ginger cookies and in exchange writes down instructions on how to take herbal tincture to improve hearing in a special notebook. Snape is sure that without his intervention, the muggle would have long gone deaf.

"Your ex-student is a very nice young man," Mrs. Yates begins, and places a cup of tea in front of Severus. He pretends that he does not understand what his curious neighbor is leading this conversation to.

"Don't be embarrassed, Samuel, I know he stayed the night. What's his name?"

Given how paranoid he is about wizards, it's inexplicable that he completely forgets about muggles. Potter and he used the portkey that time, but Mrs. Yates, who was on duty at the peephole, of course, understood everything in her own way.

"His name is Harry," says Snape and feels so ridiculous, calling Potter by his name.

"Oh, Samuel, he's in love with you. I can tell."

Snape freezes. Mrs. Yates can't know anything - she's made it all up. She even praised his disguises under the Polyjuice, but these words make Severus lose his inner balance and become restless.

"Young people nowadays don't know how to love, of course he pays attention to such a prominent man like you! You don't have such a big age difference. How old are you? Thirty?"

He is thirty-seven, soon to be thirty-eight, and he cannot be in love with Potter. No matter how much he desires him, he doesn't respect him: he is stupid, impulsive and doesn't know anything about life.

"It would be wrong to give him false hope. He fell asleep on my sofa because he had a headache," says Snape and averts his eyes.

Mrs. Yates sighs,

"I must have imagined a lot, but I really wish you were happy and not so lonely, Samuel."

Loneliness is devastating, and Severus knows it like no one else. He wants Potter, because he's handsome, honest, doesn't have hidden motives, doesn't avoid Snape's company — at least, he didn't avoid it before, and that’s not enough to lose his head, risk his pride, and get close with him even for a single moment. The Gryffindor is impulsive and doesn't know what he wants.

Potter is still too young to do anything decent with his life, and Severus doesn't even understand what exactly Potter does at the construction site. He doesn't know who Potter is currently talking to, where Potter's friends Weasley and Granger are, whether Potter is set to graduate from Hogwarts, what he is going to do in the future, and how it happened that he caught feelings for his old Potions professor.

However, he knows that Potter really dislikes the Bulgarians, and the fact that the Gryffindor had a fight with one of them still flashes in Snape's chest with delight. Severus is too disfigured by life to cherish romantic illusions, but probably what he feels for the national Hero is the most his stale, cold heart is capable of - and he can’t handle even that.

Potter didn't have time to become someone significant, to become a solid person, but he saved the wizarding world at the age of seventeen. Now he is eighteen, and at his age Snape made too many mistakes while Potter became a hero. There is more honour in him than there has ever been in Severus.

The Gryffindor saw his most shameful and painful moments, and he hardly knows about his achievements - the ones that Severus is genuinely proud of, yet nevertheless he "cares" and was apparently upset by rejection. Snape pushed away a young man who dared not only find in him something worthy of affection, but also confess openly and honestly. If that was a gift of the gods, then Severus ruined the only thing in his life worth effort with his own hands. However, if Snape had agreed, he would have regretted it. The right decisions in his life are just as painful as the wrong ones, and he doesn't see any directions to the right path.

"I'm sorry, Samuel, Harry is just a former student of yours. Of course, he's too young, and I didn't want to hint at anything else. More tea?" his neighbor offers peacefully.

Potter is too young. After the war, Severus wanted to patch himself up, have a taste of intimacy, and return to the life taken from him by the Dark Mark, but right before his eyes there's always Potter - his neck and hands, the scar on his shoulder that can be seen from under his T-shirt. The idea of brewing the Impotence potion is a sign of Snape's impermissible cowardice: he is so afraid of what is happening in his head that he is ready to forget about his manhood.

Severus apologizes and goes to his apartment. Shaking with tension, he throws all the obscene magazines and the book with a huge gold penis on the cover into the rubbish bin. He smashes the mug Potter drank from against the wall, and directs his wand to the sofa where Potter first touched his face with his lips, when he hears a knock on the door and, "Samuel, are you alright?" from his neighbor.

He helplessly drops his wand. There is no point in speculating what would have happened if Severus had not rejected Potter. It is only now, when it is too late, that he seriously considers it for the first time.

As soon as a transfigured cup of tea is empty and he pulls himself together, Severus puts on his coat, gropes for the portkey, and is thrown into the snow-covered bushes at the Three Broomsticks right in front of Pomona Sprout, the group of Bulgarian artefactologists, and a tired Potter, whose quiet voice is drowned in a chorus of greetings.

The Gryffindor looks as if he hasn't slept for several days. He has dark shadows under his eyes and looks ill. Before, Severus used to feel Potter's heavy gaze, but now all that remains is to gaze at him himself. Snape tried to let Potter down gently, but is the young man really so devastated by rejection?

"The potion works," one of the Bulgarians says loudly, and solemnly raises a bottle of firewhiskey, especially favored by Madam Rosmerta.

The artefactologists have already checked everything, having worked without rest just like him. Severus might hate them a little less for this.

"Potter, go to Madam Pomfrey, you look unwell," snaps Severus, and the Gryffindor sets his eyes on him slowly, nods, and drops his head again.

"Tomorrow there is going to be a New Year's Eve dinner for everyone staying at Hogwarts," Pomona says. "Come, Severus, we all deserve a little rest."

Severus looks at Potter and agrees without thinking. At least he'll be able to ask Poppy to check on the Gryffindor, because the stubborn national Hero is not going to the infirmary.

An owl with a letter from French artefactologists finds him right outside his rooms. Severus looks through the first three paragraphs, which praise the French builders working on the new Slytherin wing and who just recently learned from the Bulgarian artefactologists that Snape has taken over the protective circuit potion, and the French are glad that Severus Snape has returned to his vocation and would like to discuss the possibility of cooperation with a master of his caliber.

Severus reads between the lines: he was acquitted, given an Order of Merlin, and now the artefactologists can offer him a project without any doubts. The waiting list to the local French potioneers goes for years ahead, while the recently acquitted spy is unlikely to have a queue of clients and will be reasonable in prices.

Snape nervously paces his small office all evening, writing a response to the French artefactologists. This is a chance to do more than just make up for his own mistakes; this is an opportunity to get lost in potions and forget about everything, so Severus will not miss a thing this time.

He thinks of his first improved recipe for callus ointment every time he conjures a patronus. Potions are not associated with regrets, guilt, or duty for him. He collects all the books related to rituals for artefactologists that Potter and his house elf thrust into his hands, and reads them till late. He falls asleep with his cheek on a folio and opens his eyes only when Potter's elf brings him breakfast.

"Tinky didn't tell Harry Potter that Professor Snape hadn't eaten dinner and hadn't slept in bed," the house elf reports proudly.

"And who did you tell?" Severus asks, half asleep.

"Tinky told George Weasley, and George Weasley told Harry Potter!"

Snape wakes up immediately,

"I forbid! I forbid you to report my health to anyone!"

The elf disappears with a pop, and Severus rubs his face tiredly. Potter is taunting him, but yesterday he didn't pay any attention to his former professor. What is he playing at?

Snape distracts himself with books, then puts on his only formal robe and arrives late for the festive dinner in a tent near the construction site. There aren't many people: the headmistress, Filius, Poppy, Pomona, a group of former students led by acid-red George Weasley, some French builders, a few other workers, the Bulgarians, and an exhausted Potter in a maroon robe, which immediately draws the eye.

Severus sits down next to Poppy and stares at the Gryffindor, who is slowly and mechanically smearing pudding over his plate. The harmony of Potter's features is particularly noticeable compared to the Bulgarians with their heavy jaws, but the young man still looks weak. Potter probably feels that he's being watched, and the fork in his hand freezes.

"Poppy, what's wrong with Potter?" Snape asks quietly.

"He's not ill," the mediwitch whispers back. "His magical outbursts have stopped, but the severe fatigue and stress won't just go away. He should take sedative and restorative potions."

"Why isn't Weasley with his family?"

"I have no idea, and it's probably best not to ask right now."

Poppy is a Hufflepuff to the tip of her wand, and Severus genuinely likes her when she's not trying to treat him. They drink two bottles of champagne, and Snape either agrees with the quiet toasts of the mediwitch, or silently drinks to his future experimental laboratory (which he dreams of), for Potter's good nerves, and for Severus to finally understand how to do everything correctly.

Minerva is delivering a celebratory speech when Potter gets up stealthily and leaves the tent. Severus gets to his feet faster than he realises what he's doing and follows him.

"Mr. Potter," he calls. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, Professor," the Gryffindor says wearily, and rubs his face. "I just didn't sleep much."

"Did you get the dreamless sleep potion?"

"Yes, thank you!" Potter looks at him, and he doesn't really seem embarrassed or upset, just tired. "I'm saving it for a rainy day. This time the nightmares weren't too bad."

"Is it your way of refusing my gift?" Snape asks, and Potter clenches his jaw and looks away.

"All right, Professor, I'll take the potion today."

"Also, stop sending your house elf to me," adds Severus.

"Sorry. I only asked Tinky when... Well, I had to give you the ingredients for the burn ointment."

That's it. The elf was part of the apology for Potter's burning kisses, but the elf just didn't know when to stop. Perhaps the Gryffindor even thought that the elf's increased attention would benefit him, so he didn't ask it to cease following his former professor. Potter was having nightmares, and Severus thought he was suffering from a broken heart.

"Dimitar hardly slept all of this time. He miscalculated by accident, and didn't know the wall could collapse. Magic conflicts happen very rarely,” says Potter.

"Yet you had a fight with him."

Potter shrugs. He accepted the rejection with dignity, and that's all for the best. Severus is grateful to Potter, but hopes that Potter still won't mind his company, that Potter won't avert his eyes, and this misunderstanding, this stupid desire will be left behind.

Potter looks exhausted and too grown-up in the maroon robe - a stark contrast to the already familiar T-shirts and puffy jacket. He was only a child who was forced to bear the fate of the wizarding world on his shoulders to his death, and he survived against all odds.

Severus used to spend every spare minute trying to find a way out to save Potter, and now Potter is smiling wearily and doesn't hate him. They both survived by a miracle, but miracles don't happen for everyone. They can't do anything more than restore the destroyed and continue living with the memory of the past. Severus leans forward and puts his hands on Potter's shoulders, but the Gryffindor pulls him closer, grabbing him into his arms, holding him in an embrace, and whispers into his robe,

"Thank you."

Potter sighs heavily into his shoulder, then pulls back a little and raises his head - pale, drained. His eyes are half-closed, as if he is going to fall asleep on the spot. All the good that ever happened to Snape, in the end, has come down to this young man who’ll drive himself to an early grave if he's not kept a close eye on. They have already cleared up everything and Severus has nothing to lose, but he has never said that he is grateful to Potter for all of his efforts with the Wizengamot. Snape hardly said something inoffensive to the Gryffindor, and he dodges a sharp joint of the round glasses and kisses Potter's cheek, because Potter survived, and forgave him. The young man holds his breath, squeezes his hands, and the words "You'll make do, Mr. Potter, all of us will," disappear from Severus's head.

Potter hesitates, lightly kisses his cheek in return, then turns his head and covers Snape's lips with his own. Snape's insides are set alight like a bonfire, and he hasn't had any outbursts since his first year at Hogwarts, but what else can it be if not a shameful loss of control over his magic? Snape recoils from the Gryffindor in panic. 

This time it looks as if Potter is burnt: his cheeks red, breath ragged, and wide-eyed he stares at Snape. It's better to leave before Severus decides that even minute reciprocity is worth the risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absinthe has charmed my mistakes away, so here we go ;)


	19. Chapter 19

Poppy says that his magic is unstable, but more like a leaking cauldron than a cauldron with a tightly closed lid and a potion boiling inside, so magical outbursts are impossible in his case.

"Give me one of the amulets for the first-year students," Severus asks, and Poppy purses her lips skeptically, yet goes to the shelves and pulls out a glass key on a string.

“If it starts to glow and warm up, your magic is out of control. It won't happen. Severus, can you tell me what's going on?” she asks again, but Snape refuses to spill.

He doesn’t know what’s happening, the old habit of considering the worst outcomes has exhausted all his strength. Snape tries to distract himself, stretching his muscles and ligaments, his joints crunching, his back unbending — for Christmas, Poppy gave him an eastern book on yoga practices, and he tries to learn something, just to get away from Potter in his thoughts.

He hopes that Potter won't apologize for what happened. What Severus feels for him is overwhelming and torturous, and an apology would be too humiliating, only adding to his suffering. Snape can’t justify his behaviour; after his own rejection, he took a step towards Potter like a brainless fickle youth. Severus knows what he wants, but other than "want" there is "shouldn’t", and "Potter will come to his senses as soon as he gets to know me better." The whole situation with the Gryffindor is a bad idea from start to finish.

He could justify himself, say that Potter looked desperate, and Snape felt sorry for him, and that these kisses can be considered charity for Hogwarts' sake. Potter would believe it, he has a habit of trusting people, but Severus can’t do it because the young man cares about him. The old spy has gone soft; he was never cautious about his choice of words before.

When Potter doesn't come with an apology and doesn't look for him to clear things up, Severus admits that he's disappointed, and returns to his cauldrons stoically while volunteers fill the construction site again after the Christmas break.

The headmistress asks George Weasley to arrange a celebratory party, inviting everyone to gather at the warm clearing near the castle. Pike doesn't drink this time and goes somewhere to the Ravenclaws, and when Zabini whistles, Snape notices his Slytherin returning from construction tents looking thoroughly debauched, and Daphne turns away indignantly. The young are fickle, and Severus is not, which is a good argument against everything related to Potter.

McGonagall charms _Sonorus_, and the annoying muggle music fades after a wave of her wand.

"As you know," her voice echoes across the clearing, causing everyone to turn to the makeshift stage at the tents, "we couldn't speed up the construction until there was a way to connect the rebuilt areas to the protective circuit of Hogwarts. Traditionally, each stone required a separate ritual, so magical castles took a long time to build, and there are not many of them in the UK. Our esteemed Bulgarian artefactologists have dedicated many years of work to finding a solution, but the new ritual requires fine-tuning to the venue. During the holidays, they, along with Pomona Sprout, Severus Snape, and Harry Potter, finally completed their preparations for the ritual.”

Weasley is the first to whistle and start clapping, and the former students, builders, and aurors who have been on constant duty at Hogwarts for many months, join in the loud avalanche that makes Severus' ears pop.

"On behalf of all students who will ever enter Hogwarts, I want to thank Dimitar, Vasil, Hristo and Nikolai for their round-the-clock efforts to help the school open its doors in the next academic year."

The Bulgarians standing not far from the headmistress nod and smile at the cheers and claps. They look battered, and Severus has no doubt they've been drinking all night. The artefactologists didn't ask him for an anti-hangover potion, and he's not going to volunteer a helping hand to careless youngsters who didn't foresee a magical conflict. They all are closer to thirty, and at this age, it's just the time to take responsibility for one's own stupidity.

"I also want to thank all the former students who are here. The stones of Hogwarts shine because of you."

Severus sees the Gryffindors slapping each other's backs in approval — how childish, this isn't a Quidditch match. He's enraged by someone else's joy. He does not feel it, and he cannot find Potter among the crowd, no matter how hard he tries.

"We are also grateful to Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout and Professor Snape, who decided to return to Hogwarts, even if there's no one to teach now. Believe me, none of us will abandon our houses. The walls of the school were destroyed, but Hogwarts is not just stones and soil under your feet, it's also your peers and professors. You can still contact us if you need help or advice, whether you are eleven, thirty-seven or one hundred and forty."

He is thirty-seven, soon to be thirty-eight, and Minerva is talking about him. He didn't seek to come back. He was slowly dying in his London flat, and coming home to Hogwarts was his best decision in years. The school under Minerva's leadership still needs him and he's glad that she insisted on his return. Snape feels alive, and this is a disgusting feeling, yet it is much better than the past apathy.

"Thanks to Madam Pomfrey," the headmistress continues, "who cares more about your health than you do," the former students laugh, finding it funny, but it's only because of Poppy that Severus can use his wand to jinx them into the next week. "Finally, thanks to Harry Potter."

Everyone starts looking around for the Hero, and Severus finally sees him, embarrassed, in a torn T-shirt, with his jacket slung over his shoulder. He's got books in his hands and he looks like an athlete pretending to be a librarian.

"It is difficult to establish cooperation between scientific fields in the wizarding world, and this is exactly what Harry has been doing all this time. In many ways, this rapid preparation for the ritual is his merit."

"Cheers to Harry Potter!" shouts Weasley, and the former students, workers, builders and even Bulgarians catch on, and the Gryffindor, so unlike his father, blushes and obviously wants to run away from here. Snape admires him like a natural phenomenon: there is wind, there are thunderstorms, and there is Harry Potter, who forgave him, and who deserved more from him.

The headmistress smiles proudly, waits for the crowd to quiet down, and begins to talk about future plans. Potter takes advantage of the distraction, throws on his puffy jacket and makes his way to the road to Hogsmeade. Severus goes after him, following him like a stray dog that was once gently petted. He has been wrong most of his life, so is it any wonder that he’s been wrong about Potter?

He catches up with the Gryffindor in Hogsmeade, walks beside him, but the young man pretends not to notice — it's another karmic reckoning, one of many.

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter," Severus says awkwardly. The Gryffindor thanks him and stops in front of one unremarkable house. "I'd like to apologize," Snape adds.

Potter looks down at his feet, and Severus suddenly realizes that the young man may think it's an apology for the kiss, and if the Gryffindor still has feelings for him, it could be quite unpleasant to hear.

"I used to be rather harsh to you," Severus continues. Potter exhales, rubs his scar out of habit, raises his head and slowly opens the door, but does not enter, just stands frozen as if inviting Snape to come in first. His face is tense, almost desperate, and Severus can't figure out this mimic arithmetics, he knows only the animated and chatty Potter, or the sullen and depressed - nothing more.

Severus steps inside, and Potter slams the door behind himself, drops his books, and puts his arms around Snape's chest and stomach, so tight and gentle that the former professor can barely contain a groan. Sex is not that important when no one has touched him for so long — an embrace is enough to make him lose it. The deafening loneliness has robbed him of all strength and common sense, and when Potter turns him and kisses his lips, Severus does nothing to stop the madness. It can't be too terrible a mistake if Potter wants it too. The amulet doesn't shine — this agonizing and hot tension inside isn't related to magic — and the memory of Godfrey's kisses pales in comparison to Potter’s.

The Gryffindor tastes his mouth with his tongue, and the sensation of someone else's erection pressing against Snape's thigh is completely incredible. Potter is everywhere, and Severus hesitantly touches his broad back. He wants him without clothes, he wants to taste all of Potter, caress him with his lips, and Snape - a crazed idol worshipper - kneels in front of the Apollo and unzips Potter's fly.

The evening stubble prevents the animal-like desire to rub his face against Potter's cock, so Severus just wraps his lips around the head, sucking it into his mouth, not daring to take it deeper so as not to choke, and Potter bites his fist looking like he is about to lose consciousness or come.

"I'm gonna -" moans Potter, Severus pulls away, helping him spill with his hand and hoarsely utters a cleansing spell. His knees ache from the cold stone floor, and Potter pants and looks at him in disbelief, then leans forward and reaches for his robe.

Snape shifts away, but the Gryffindor keeps saying, "Please! Please," grabs his hands and pulls him into the only dark room, sheds his jacket, and hugs him again.

Severus shivers, and Potter notices. He uses it as a weapon, presses harder, rubs his palms against Snape’s cloth covered skin, and that's enough, even less was enough, however, Gryffindors never stop halfway. Severus responds to Potter’s breathless kisses and pats him on the back hesitantly when his robe and shirt fall on the floor. Potter pushes him to the bed, gets rid of his own T-shirt, and sits down next to him, pulling his trousers off along with his underwear. The young man presses his stubbled cheek to the skin of Snape’s thigh, and Severus panics trying to remember whether he has had a shower today, trying to understand if the darkness of the room is enough to hide the scars and thinness of his body, and the thoughts prevent him from coming the very second Potter kisses his cock feverishly, and then sucks it in as deep as he can, both impatient and unskilled - Merlin the Great, he's probably a virgin too.

Severus’s whole body jerks when his cockhead slips into Potter's throat, and the young man chokes. The Gryffindor’s shoulders seem huge between his thin legs. Potter runs his tongue along the frenulum so that Severus shakes with the sensations. He mustn’t orgasm so quickly lest the young man should guess how inexperienced he is in bed.

When, if not now, and with whom, if not with Potter? Potter has feelings for him and can't have a lot of expectations if he’s a virgin. Although Snape knows the theory of sex, he doesn't know how to put it into practice, how to do everything correctly, painlessly and without awkwardness. This responsibility can be shifted to Potter. Snape has to try. Even a simple embrace makes him shudder with pleasure, and he can no longer live without such intimate knowledge and endure nighttime fantasies that are probably far from reality.

He grabs the Gryffindor's hands, whispers _Lubricus_, touching his fingers, and Potter’s magic responds, making the young man’s digits wet and slippery. Potter freezes in confusion; his open, reddened mouth bringing to mind an image of him taking Snape's cock, with enough practice, deep down his throat. Merlin but Snape desperately wants to give him that practice. Snape turns to his side, hoping that the Gryffindor is too concerned about not messing up himself to pay attention to anything else. Potter moans as if he’s in pain, presses his cock against Severus’s back, and slippery fingers pass between his buttocks, entering the sensitive anus. It felt very different when Severus did it himself or with the help of a massager - every movement is a hot flash, and he squeezes his cock at the base to avoid coming.

"Now," Snape grunts, grabs Potter’s hand, and casts a lubrication spell once again.

Potter fumbles behind him and slowly presses into him. The heat and pain of stretching are mixed together perfectly, making Snape’s senses betray him. At this point he certainly could orgasm even if Potter decided to punch him - but the Gryffindor only caresses his neck and shoulder with open-mouth kisses and moans quietly, barely discernibly.

Potter starts moving, his breathing heavy - it’s so overwhelmingly good. Severus has never been this close to anyone. He hasn’t even completely undressed in the presence of another person, always hiding behind a canopy when he was still a student, or waiting for the others to leave the shower room.

The movement inside is unbearably pleasant and when Severus feels the gentle embrace of Potter’s arms across his chest, he groans, clenching on the young man's hard cock. Praise Gryffindor innocence that Potter hasn’t found his prostate yet, otherwise Snape’s heart would explode.

Potter loses the rhythm and leads his hand lower, but Severus pushes the hand away, touches his own cock and comes so hard that he feels deafened and blinded for a few seconds. The Gryffindor leans on top, pressing Snape’s chest to the bed, snaps his hips till he spills, and then fumbles with his hand on the sheet until he comes across a wet spot of Severus's semen.

The magic of arousal ends, and Snape hisses in pain as Potter pulls out of him and utters a cleansing spell. But his hand is still wrapped around his chest, and his lips gently touch the sensitive skin of his shoulder, irritated by Potter's rough chin.

Merlin as a witness, Severus didn't think about sex when he entered Potter's chambers. If Snape had known what he was giving up all this time, he wouldn't have survived so many years of celibacy. He turns and before he can blink, Potter kisses him again, so desperately that he doesn't feel like a thirty-seven-year-old fool.

Severus opens his mouth, and Potter caresses his tongue, his cock swells again at Snape's hip, but the Gryffindor does not try to continue. He throws his hand over his shoulder, settling himself more comfortably, and falls silent. He can’t have fallen asleep, he’s just pretending, and Severus's body has already got his long awaited release, but his mind wants Potter again, now, wants to kiss him, spread his thighs and press his tongue onto him, have him until he comes, and then feel his cock inside again. The feeling of a cock-stretched ass is absolutely mind-blowing. Maybe Potter would find his prostate, and then he would come without touching himself. In that shameless muggle book, it's written that it's possible, and Severus wants everything, having tried only a little.

He struggles to get up, slipping out of Potter's arms, and the Gryffindor either has really fallen asleep, or politely lets him go away without thinking about decency. Pain shoots through his backside and knees, and Severus struggles to pick up the clothes scattered on the floor, get dressed, and leave into the frosty evening. He still has some anti-inflammatory ointment, enough to get rid of the soreness, but he'll have to do something about his knees. A wave of former pleasure rolls through his body and, dear Merlin, Severus wants Potter again.

He has to clear his mind at night, otherwise he just would not be able to sleep, and in the morning a cheerful and unpredictable Potter shows up at his door with books in his hands as if nothing had happened. The young man says,

“Hello, Professor Snape! I'm here to talk about the ritual for the protective circuit.”

Severus lets him into his tiny office and unenthusiastically listens to all the suggestions that could make the potion more effective, trying not to think about what naked Potter looked like in bed when Severus left his room and what on Earth is going on between them.

The Gryffindor puts the books with his notes on the table and asks for the return of the Herbology monograph. Snape finds it in the lab, and when he returns, Potter grabs him into his arms, puts his lips on his face, and Snape has time to revel in the feeling of his hot, wet tongue before he comes to his senses, recoils and growls,

“Potter!”

“Leaving,” Potter raises his hands conciliatorily, and rushes to disappear behind the front door.

**And here the Snape's solo story is finishing. Check out the following bonus chapter!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absinthe is my English life-savior!


	20. BONUS

**Three weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts: Minerva McGonagall**

That barn owl is one of many that appears at Hogwarts these days, and Minerva, hastily finishing a letter to Kingsley, doesn't pay attention to the envelope the bird has brought until a feathered wing shoves the ink bottle to the floor.

“If it's not from the artefactologists, you are going to regret it," the headmistress says, but the persistent owl extends a talon, ignoring the threatening tone, and Minerva freezes when she recognizes the handwriting on the envelope.

With a trembling hand she conjures a patronus, and when Filius, Pomona, and Poppy rush into her office, agitated, she shows them the unopened envelope, and they gasp, frozen. Finally Pomona takes the letter from Minerva's hand, pulls out the parchment, and runs her eyes over the neat lines.

"He survived," she whispers, and looks back at her colleagues.

Poppy hides her face in her hands and drops down on the chair that Filius has carefully conjured - she started sobbing before Pomona finished reading. Flitwick says,

“Well, dear colleagues, I’ve got a bottle of fine calvados. I owe Severus Snape a lot of apologies, and I'm glad to have the opportunity to say sorry in person.”

Poppy cries the way she didn't at the funerals, Filius leaves for five minutes to retrieve the alcohol, Pomona — the kind-hearted Hufflepuff - hugs the mediwitch and pats her back soothingly, and Minerva suddenly realizes that she forgot to invite another person who needs to be one of the first to find out about Severus Snape.

Red-faced, Harry Potter bursts into her office half an hour later, looks at the bottles of calvados on the table in bewilderment, and accepts a full glass from Flitwick's hand.

"To Severus Snape, the Professor-Who-Lived," Filius says with a smile, and everyone raises their glasses, while Harry's lips begin to tremble.

“Dear Merlin,” thinks Minerva, “We only have just calmed Poppy down.”

* * *

**Eight months after the Battle of Hogwarts, before the New Year holidays, after Snape's rejection: Harry Potter**

“Harry Potter asked to tell when Professor Snape does not care for his health! Professor Snape ate little, spent all day in the laboratory and hardly slept!” reports the elf.

Harry looks up from his monograph about plants of the Forbidden Forest and asks hesitantly,

“Did he look pleased?”

"Tinky thinks so.”

"Tinky, please make sure that Professor Snape is not disturbed, and insist that he eat something."

The house elf nods and disappears with a pop, and Harry bangs his forehead against the monograph and can't understand why he's such an idiot. Snape rejected him, although he hadn’t really believed that Snape would accept and suddenly become overwhelmed with feelings for him. Snape had warned him, but he simply had to try and get rejected in order to live on. Where was his pride, indeed?

Snape is a strong, mature, and experienced man. He has that muggle and Harry can’t compete with Godfrey. The man probably doesn't have scars, doesn't have nightmares, is a good lover, and Snape hasn't taught him in school for six years. Snape told him not to embarrass himself, because he understood everything — and Harry had better stop this infatuated nonsense and put all his efforts to Herbology, otherwise Dimitar would be livid.

* * *

**Eleven months after the Battle of Hogwarts: Poppy Pomfrey**

Stubborn Severus Snape finally heeded her persuasions - she’ll make it a toast next time they drink together.

"I told you," Poppy says contentedly, "If you exercised a little, you would get better."

Severus rolls his eyes, but looks flattered, and she can't help but tease,

“Still haven’t fallen in love? Mediwitch’s orders."

The former Potions professor grumbles that these are her Hufflepuff fantasies, that infatuation can't affect health and, moreover, can't even be reliably measured to confirm or disprove the theory. So sarcastic and talkative, it means he's in a good mood.

* * *

**Eleven months after the Battle of Hogwarts: Severus Snape**

When Potter chokes on toast and Snape gently pats his back, he shivers from the heat of his strong body, feeling it through a thin T-shirt. Severus clears his throat and asks awkwardly,

“Are you still out of your mind?”

The Gryffindor looks at him in confusion, swallowing the tea, and Snape is getting irritated because he doesn't know how else to say it: normally Potter initiates everything by himself.

“I guess so,” replies the young man with a hint of a question, but when Severus strokes his back and shoulders Potter finally gets it. “Yeah, I am. Are you?”

* * *

**First anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts: Harry Potter**

They run to the construction tent. George has drunk more than Harry, but he knows how to drink, so he stands solemnly and firmly on his feet every toast, but Harry does not get up any more and hopes for tomorrow's hangover remedy. George toasts as if Fred were still there, and maybe he is in a way.

“When we were in our fifth year,” the redhead grins, “he made up a story that Snape is an enchanted veela, and only a kiss of true love could lift the curse. This is how we made the "Love Kiss" lipstick: you kiss someone, and a light glamour spell is applied to the person. Makes your skin smoother, whitens your teeth, adds blush, makes your hair shiny, too. It is a pity that we didn’t try it on Snape.”

“Snape looks alright,” objects Harry and finishes his glass.

“His nose is huge and his hair is so greasy!"

“His hair is like that because of potions, it's not greasy when he's not standing over a cauldron." Harry shakes his head stubbornly. He knows that George will continue teasing because he’s sensed his reaction, but he just can't keep quiet. "There's no curse, and there's nothing wrong with his nose," Harry says with conviction.

“Your glasses don’t help you much, do they?”

* * *

**A year and two months after the Battle of Hogwarts: Hermione Granger**

She returns to Hogwarts with the memories of last May, but it’s difficult to tell from the rebuilt stone walls that the whole area was once in ruins. There are no Slytherin dungeons in the new Hogwarts, some household annexes have been moved closer to the forest, and the restored Gryffindor tower looks just like before. Harry doesn't blame her for not staying to help with the rebuilding, but Hogwarts is her home, and it’s sad to see it has changed so much without her.

Harry is living in the Hufflepuff wing now, and Hermione has never seen him around so many books, notebooks and torn sheets of parchment that look crumpled and then carefully smoothed out.  
“If Ron says that I bit you and now you’re infected too, I’ll hex him,” she says with a smile, and Harry snorts in response.

“If you did, I'd get at least half of what's written here. It’s very difficult, I have to experiment in order to understand the difference in practice, I feel like an idiot next to Vasil and Dimitar,” her friend admits. "Especially next to Professor Sprout."

"Don't worry too much, at least you'll definitely find a job," Hermione says. “I noticed that allied specialities are very rare in the wizarding world.”

“I’d have chosen Artefactology paired with Charms or Transfiguration, but Professor Flitwick and Headmistress McGonagall don't take apprenticesm - they don't have time to teach anyone properly. It left only Herbology, and I still can't believe how complicated it is.”

"Does Professor Snape take apprentices? You're getting pretty good at potions.”

"He said that if I wanted to kill him, he would prefer Avada," Harry grumbles, and she laughs shamelessly at his "grief." "Hermie, help me with Herbology, I've been working on this handbook for half a day! Can you tell me what the difference is between collecting class C plants on a full and a waning moon? I think it says the same thing in different words.”

Hermione sighs and holds out her hand for the book, when a house elf appears and squeaks, "Professor Snape asked Tinky to tell Harry Potter not to forget about the potion."

"I remember," Harry mumbles, pointing at the page. “The same here. It's the same thing, Hermione, and this paragraph has been reprinted that way in two other textbooks. I can't go to Professor Sprout and confess that I don’t understand, she’ll think I'm hopeless! Vasil and Dimitar agreed to teach me Artefactology only if I'd take another field of study as well and help them with it.”

“Ask Professor Snape, he must know something.”

"That’s even worse. He'll think I'm an idiot," her friend says in frustration.

"He always thought so before," Hermione smiles, and Harry buries his face in his hands with a groan. “Frankly, I think this is a very bad handbook,” she adds, and flinches when a doe patronus jumps into the room and an irritated voice says, 

"Potter, if you don't come for the potion right now, feel free not to come at all."

"There's still time," Harry says absently, checking his book.

Judging by the fact that Snape is helping him, they reached a lasting truce. After the professor's acquittal, Harry wrote her letters where he complained that he couldn’t find Snape, then that Snape refused to talk to him, then about how much Harry screwed up with Skeeter, and Snape was unlikely to forgive him, and eventually stopped writing about Snape at all.  
There is a knock on Harry's door, and Hermione can clearly hear a deep irritated voice from behind the door,

“You fool, do you want to go back to the infirmary because you can't follow basic instructions?"

Harry jumps up and runs to the hall to open the door.

“Oh. You're not alone,” the tone of Professor Snape becomes icy.

“Good evening, Professor Snape!” she shouts at the door.

“Hermione’s here, we lost track of time talking,” Harry says quietly. “I'm a little stuck with Herbology.”

"Give me your hand," Snape says softly, then she hears rustle of fabric and the words of a healing spell. “Drink.”

The professor peeks into the room, and Hermione has to admit that Snape looks much better after the war. The angry furrows around his mouth are gone, making him look like a different man, more of a tired scientist than a vengeful dark wizard.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," Snape says, and turns to the door. “Potter.”

There is a rustle of robes in the hall, whispers, and the door slams shut.

Harry returns to the room with a grimace, “Sometimes I think he brews it so bitter just out of spite. And it turns out that there is no difference, this is just a favorite tricky question from Professor Sprout.”

* * *

**A year and two months after the Battle of Hogwarts: George Weasley**

"That explains everything," George says, unperturbed, after listening to Harry Potter's revelations.

His little sister cried for nothing, she wasn't the problem. His mother and father were not happy about the upcoming wedding, but they did not say anything against it - they married as soon as they graduated from Hogwarts, and they knew for sure how important parental support was. Even Ginny didn't think it was necessary to hurry, but she didn't dare say no or ask to wait. And then Harry freaked out and left to rebuild Hogwarts, and at first from all the Weasleys only George didn’t stop talking to him.

“One hundred percent gay, so gay," Harry says it as if he's remembering something very good, the same tone George can use to say "Oh, yes" to the question of whether he likes girls.

George would never have thought, because this is Harry, who used to wear his cousin's hand-me-down clothes, a trusted partner in crime, he's a normal guy, like all of them. 

“Snape’s gay, do you know that?" George asks. “They say Dumbledore and Grindewald were, too. If all homosexuals are like that, then you guys are tough. Do you have some kind of yes-homo club where you share the secrets of magic with each other?”

Harry silently hides his face in his hands.

"Is Snape actually gay? I remember that in Hogwarts he treated girls better than boys."

"He is," Harry mutters, and George comes to the only conclusion that will embarrass his friend even more.

“So, are you two..?” he assumes slyly, and Harry doesn't deny it. Harry-Merlin help him-Potter is doing it with Snape. That really explains everything. "You and Snape! Don't get me wrong, but how could he agree to this?”

"Oh, he didn’t, he rejected me," replies Harry. “And then it just happened, and I kind of... haven’t asked again."

* * *

**A year and more than 3 months after the Battle of Hogwarts, September 1**

"Frederick" becomes a new bestseller of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and everyone is staring in awe at the night sky over Hogwarts, enjoying the firework in action.

"He hated being called that," Harry smiles, and George nods eagerly.

"Hell, yes, he was so mad about it. Snape and Flitwick helped us make everything just perfect, so we expect a lot of orders in the shop.”

Enchanted dragons fly away, scattering bright sparks everywhere, and then the whole sky is covered with a transparent fluttering veil with blooming patterns on it.

"And there's a hyena and a coyote*," George points to the edge of the veil, where silvery animals frolic, gradually ripping the sky into thousands of thin ribbons, falling down to earth.

The redhead wipes his face with the sleeve of his robe stealthily, the Hogwarts students and professors look up with bated breath, and the animals run farther and farther away, turning into two soft, golden lights. The firework goes off again and one light disappears into the night, leaving the other to race to the horizon alone.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Rumor has it that a hyena and a coyote are the twins’ patronuses. 
> 
> Thank you so much for encouraging comments and your kudos! It is my first time translating my fiction into English, and it wouldn't look as nice without the wonderful editors Gumi (chapters 1-5) and Absinthe (chapters 5-20)! Check out [Absinthe Bookstore Tumblr](https://absinthenbooks.tumblr.com)!
> 
> P.S. - If you're into asian BL TV-shows, my [Tumblr](https://gradienta.tumblr.com) is about them.


End file.
